


Strength From Travail

by SeverEstHolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, New Arrivals, Pregnancy, Sexuality, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 47,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverEstHolmes/pseuds/SeverEstHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with Sherlock brings numerous unforeseen circumstances and the rough and tumble life of army life made John Watson reach a plateau in his life where he believes nothing can surprise him. Everything is about to be turned upside down by the occurrence of a new arrival.  Johnlock, Slash, Rated Mature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The characters of Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, Inspector Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and James Moriarty are the intellectual property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and I hold no claim upon them.

 

            The skies were getting darker earlier now; the sun had descended down past the horizon and transcended the skies into dramatic shades of red and violet. It had been a bitter and blustery day, this harsh weather could be seen in the huddled figures that were rushing back and forth on the street down below. John Watson had been stood in the groove of the large bay window situated in the living room of 221B Baker Street; the sudden drop in temperature had caused the old bullet wound in his shoulder to ache incessantly for the past couple of days – thus rendering him housebound and in a distinctly worse mood than he would have liked. Sherlock was currently without a case and normally when this was the predicament he lounged about their flat living room in his dressing gown, occasionally playing scraps of music on his violin but more generally lying about complaining of the lack of interest in the world and bemoaning the lack of nicotine present in his bloodstream. However in the past few days his presence had dwindled from being around most of the day, to John only seeing him fleetingly for moments at a time. Sherlock had removed quite a few of his alchemical instruments and transported them up the stairs to his own bedroom, John got the distinct impression that this move had been caused because of the foul mood that he knew he was in. Since the move of all these chemical instruments, John had taken over the use of the living room – spending most of his time reading the novel that he had been attempting to read for over a month and feeling heartily disgruntled at the pain that was a constant dull ache in his shoulder and sent repeated sharp shooting stabs down through his right arm and torso. The occasional clatter or explosion from echoing from Sherlock’s room on the flight above was the extent of human interaction that John par took in. Several times in the past few days John had recalled the first conversation he had ever had with Sherlock in the St. Barts lab when Sherlock had enumerated his bad points because “potential flatmates should know the worst of one another”.  John had mentioned that his war wounds sometimes made their presence known, but they had never been this bad for quite some time.

            For the past two hours there had been an absence of sound from above and John, who had tired himself out from pacing the room back and forth, rather like a caged animal, was leaning against the frame of the window and staring out into the street. For a long period of time he had been gazing into space; his mind and spirit completely separated and absent from the location of his body, but after roughly a quarter of an hour he began to focus upon the window boxes of the flats opposite his own. Only a few weeks ago every single one of those boxes had been full of greenery and the last shoots of flowers, but now the green leaves had withered and they were now predominantly barren mud boxes.

            The door of the living room swung open, creaking on its hinges and reminding John that it needed oiled, and Sherlock flounced into the room looking rather tousled in his dressing gown. His appearance was one of great annoyance and John noticed that there were plasters upon some of his fingers; somehow John guessed that his experiments had not gone in his liking.

            “Have you blown something up?” John asked cautiously, he was in no mood for deep conversation, but Sherlock was bearing such a presentiment that something had to be said to him.

            “No.” Sherlock sighed, “I’ve just run out of copper – aluminium blend to solder with, now I have to wait until a new batch arrives before I can continue further.” There was a long silence while Sherlock stretched out his legs in front of him while slouching further down in the seat of his armchair, making his whole frame appear longer and lankier than usual as he lolled about. “John?” He started, his voice very low.

            “Yes?” John replied, settling himself down in his armchair.

            “I’m bored… Why is nothing happening?” This was a frequent bemoan of Sherlock’s when cases were thin on the ground.

            “I don’t know Sherlock, hasn’t there been anything on the blog?” He asked.

            “Nothing more scintillating than the normal bleats of the world.” He grumbled, sliding yet further down the chair; if he fell any more he would be sitting on the floor. “Lestrade texted me yesterday, but the matter was so simple that he was able to clear it up for himself.”

            “To anyone other than you I would say enjoy the peace, but that won’t settle you.” John said very quietly, retrieving his book from the awkward position it had jammed itself in between his armchair and the coffee table.

            “It’s time like these that drive me to cocaine.” Sherlock’s musing was so low that he had expected John not to hear him, but John’s senses were sharper than usual, and he heard every word of Sherlock’s mutterings.

            “If you even contemplate it, I will seriously skin you alive.” John warned him, “Surely there must be _something_ that can occupy your mind!”

            “Urgh!” He exhaled dramatically, “There’s not! The world is boring!” John rolled his eyes at this vast oversimplification of the world and what there was to do in it.

            “How about you do some shopping? Or tidy the flat up a bit?” John suggested despite knowing the reaction he was about to receive; correct in his thinking. Sherlock made a noise halfway between a grunt and a snort as though these menial tasks were of no consequence or relevance to his life overall. “It’d really help Sherlock! This place is a mess! I can’t believe you’d want clients to come into here and be confronted with such chaos – it might change their minds about your capabilities.”

            “It’s not chaos, it’s organised…” Sherlock responded huffily, sounding more and more like a petulant child who wasn’t getting his own way. “I know where everything is!”

            “Well I bloody well don’t…” John grumbled.

            “That’s not my fault.” Sherlock sniped; John opened his book and tried to find the place that he had finished off – arguing with Sherlock was an impossibility, generally because Sherlock turned childish and was unable to be reasoned with. The only noise present in the room now was from Sherlock’s sighs, which were increasing in volume each time; John tried to ignore him completely, immersing himself in the book but it was becoming ever more difficult.

            “Can’t you find anything to blow up or something?” John asked in exasperation after fifteen minutes of constant distraction by Sherlock. “Or email Lestrade and tell him you’ll work on a cold case, or just _something!_ Something to occupy yourself so you’re not being insufferable!”

            “I’m not being insufferable! There’s nothing wrong with me! Just because your shoulder hurts, you don’t have to take it out on me!” The interaction had reached base of primary school-esque sniping now, John glared at Sherlock fuming. What did he know? He had no idea what it was like to have a bullet tear into your skin, to rip and gouge at your flesh and leave behind it; how it would ache and make its presence known as a constant reminder that someone once tried to end your life. It was a perpetual admonition that his life had been hung upon a thread, three more inches and he would have been gone…

            “I’d like to see you with a great hole in your shoulder and see how you cope!” John snarled feeling rather put out and hurt by Sherlock’s insistence that his mood was the causation for Sherlock’s intolerability. At the moment that John was beginning to get really annoyed the doorbell rang out… announcing the arrival of someone. “You’d better goddamn hope that’s a client, otherwise I might just think of some way to show to you how bloody painful a gunshot wound is!” John threatened, hearing shuffling movements from downstairs which must mean that Mrs. Hudson was going for the door. Sherlock had perked up slightly in his chair in case of a client coming to present a case for his help.

            “Boys! John! There’s a visitor here for you!” Mrs. Hudson called from down the staircase before footsteps were audible on the stairs, both John and Sherlock turned their attention to the door which the guest would have to enter through. However to John’s very great surprise, the figure that entered, though bound in about five layers of clothes, was one that he knew. Her sandy brown hair reaching to her ears, her face flushed pink from the harshness of the weather outside and her puffer jacket zipped right up to below her chin – but it was definitely the figure of her older sister, Harriet. 


	2. Chapter Two

** Chapter Two **

****

            “Harry!” John exclaimed as she stepped across the threshold into the room with the light falling across her face. She looked healthier than John had seen her in a long time – her face was fuller and with much more colour than it had been in a long time; the bags under her eyes which had been so prominent were almost gone entirely; and her eyes had retained a sparkle which had previously been completely dulled by drink. The rejuvenated appearance was of some surprise to John, but it was nothing in compared to the shock he would experience as his eyes travelled down his sister. Despite the large puffy jacket that encompassed her from her chin to her knees, John could clearly see the bump that was at her midriff. She was pregnant. John was so stunned by this obvious fact that he was unable to speak; Sherlock kindly filled in the awkward silence.

            “Would you like a seat?” He offered courtesy.

            “Thank you.” She spoke for the first time, sitting down in the armchair across from where Sherlock was seated and looking at the floor in embarrassed apprehension. “I’ve not seen you in a while John, I thought I should pay you a visit.”

            “But… but…” John struggled to vocalise the words to match the emotion that he was currently feeling. “You’re pregnant?!” He finally got out words in a shocked statement; one of Sherlock’s eyebrows had raised high up on his forehead and he was clearly feeling some amusement – probably because of the bluntness of John’s outcry.

            “Yes,” Harry answered. “Seven and a half months.”

            “But… how?” John asked in confusion, as far as he knew Harry had still been living with Clara – he was sure that she would have notified him in they were intending on having a child together.

            “I would have thought that was obvious John… you being a doctor and all.” Sherlock smirked, his voice permeated with a state of hilarity, John glared across at him meaning to silence him – it worked as he suddenly looked reproachful.

            “But – but I thought you were with Clara?” John questioned, feeling dreadfully behind on what was going on with his own sister. This question was obviously a loaded one for Harry, and she took an interest in her feet, looking rather uncomfortable.

            “Not anymore…” She replied quietly; a long silence followed as John attempted to process this abundance of information. He sank down onto the sofa and stared at his sister in dumbfounded amazement and surprise.

            “Shall I make a pot of tea?” Sherlock asked suddenly, getting to his feet. John rather suspected that he felt awkward at this interaction that was going on between him and his sister, and wanted to do something which would remove him from the situation. “Tea Harriet?”

            “Do you have any decaf?” She requested quietly, not even reacting to Sherlock addressing her with her full name.

            “I’m sure I can find some.” Sherlock replied, then moved out of the living room and into the kitchen area – John could heart the kettle being filled and put on to boil. He should make use of the time while Sherlock wasn’t in the room with them.

            “What happened Harry?” He asked, trying to sound calm.

            “Clara asked for a break.” She started, “Quite some time ago, she said that she wasn’t even sure that she wanted to be in our relationship any more, that she wasn’t even sure of her sexuality… I didn’t want to let her go and I think she felt obliged to stay, but I allowed her a break to explore and really find out what she wanted.” Harry paused, fiddling with the sleeve of her jacket. “I didn’t realise exactly what that would mean though. She still lived with me, but she kept going out – and one night she came back and she said she still loved me, but she had fallen for a man too. I thought maybe if I let the crush run its course then she would return to me in the end, but she started saying she couldn’t choose between me and a man.” This story was completely new to John, as far as he had known Clara had always been the decisive one who knew exactly what she wanted. “She started bringing Paolo round to the flat. I didn’t object at first cause I thought that might drive her away completely. But then she started making hints and suggesting that maybe we should have a threesome or something like that; I didn’t like the idea because I loved Clara and didn’t want the water to be muddied by the presence of Paolo. After the fifth time of her suggesting it I told her I’d consider it, more to shut up about it that anything… but when I thought about it, I kinda thought that if we did have a threesome then maybe it would reawaken her feelings for me – so I agreed.” She was getting a little upset, and John wanted to reach out to her, but at the same time he didn’t want to interrupt her story. “The only thing the threesome actually did was make it clear to me that I don’t like men at all, even his presence was disgusting, and when… when we did things I was repulsed by the actions. I tried to make sure that Clara had a better time with me than with him, but I don’t know how successful I was…” She sighed, “Less than a week later I came here to find a letter addressed to me from Clara; in it she said she loved me and would always love me, but that she needed a fresh start and that she was going away with Paolo to Portugal. I can’t help but think that she was using me and keeping me sweet until the two of them could run off together. Then four months later, I found out I was pregnant.” She placed her hand upon the bump in her midriff. “I didn’t believe it at first, but I couldn’t ignore it for that long… I’ve stopped drinking completely and I’ve tried to do everything I can to make myself healthy; I thought I should come and visit you to tell you so that it’s not a complete shock.”

            “It’s certainly been a bit of a shock!” John replied after a moment, she nodded. It was at this moment that Sherlock reappeared carrying a tea-tray, it was the first time that I had seen him being so helpful and domesticated.

            “Here we go… tea.” Sherlock placed the tray down on one of the small tables.

            “Thank you.” Harry smiled, picking up the mug which was pointed towards her.

            “My God Harry…” John breathed. “Why didn’t you come and tell me sooner?”

            “I dunno…” She shrugged. “It took almost a month for it to sink in, and I was over four months when I found out. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do; it’s taken me a while to get my head sorted out. I was already twenty three weeks when I found out, so if I had wanted a termination I had to decide within a week, and it’s not really the kind of decision you can just make offhand…” John was staring at his sister, halfway between feeling guilty that he hadn’t known about this and been able to help her, and still complete amazement at the situation playing out in front of him. Sherlock had sat back down into his armchair and was looking slightly uncomfortable, which was peculiar for him, about the intrusion he was causing for the siblings. “I thought I’d put the baby up for adoption, but I’ve kind of gotten used to the idea of having a baby… It’d be someone to look after and, well… you know.” She shrugged again; John had always thought that Harry didn’t want to have kids, she had said years ago that she would never want to bring a child into a situation where it wouldn’t be able to have the best, and in the certainty that it’s life would be a happy one – for this reason, John had dismissed her maternal qualities, but they had seemed to be reawakened when she discovered she was pregnant. “I had an appointment with the nurse yesterday and, well, she asked me whether I had thought about my birthday plans… I realised that I don’t really have anyone other than you, so I was wondering whether you’d like to be there at the birth?” She posed this question rather airily, but the fear in her eyes showed that it was a more serious question than she was letting on.

            “I… bu – I – of course!” John spluttered incoherently. “If you want me there, then of course!”

            “Thanks,” She smiled rather ruefully, and placed her hand upon her bump. “It takes a weight off my mind.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you think of this chapter :)


	3. Chapter Three

 

            “Is there anything else we can do?” Sherlock asked, John appeared to be floundering under the weight of the information that was being placed onto him very suddenly. “Anything else you need?” John stared at Sherlock – was it possible that John had somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming this whole situation? He pinched the edge of his knee to check if this hypothesis could possibly be true, but the sharp sting of pain made it clear that he was not dreaming.

            “Right now, an aspirin would be much appreciated!” She said jokingly, taking another sip of her cup of tea; John noticed that as she raised the mug to her lips that her fingers seemed to be squished rather tightly into the space in the handle.

            “Is everything alright?” John asked, unable to keep his medical interest out of the question.

            “Yeah,” She replied, “They’re just either playing football, or ballet dancing rather vigorously.” There was a smile on her face, with her hand pressed into her lower belly.

            “Do you know?” John asked suddenly. “Whether it’s a boy or a girl I mean…”

            “No.” She shook her head. “I decided that I’d keep it a surprise… Although I’m still following the Watson family tradition.”

            “I’ll see if I can find you some aspirin.” Sherlock muttered, standing up to excuse himself.

            “It’s alright Sherlock, I’ve got some upstairs – I’ll fetch it.” John told Sherlock, getting up from his own chair. He found some aspirin in one of the drawers of his bedroom cabinet and returned to the living room. “Here we go,” John said to Harry, holding out the packet in means to pop a tablet out of the foil casing onto her hand, but as Harry held out her hand, John paused. “Have your hands always been like that Harry?” He asked, she held out both of her hands and looked at them in slight confusion.

            “Like what?”

            “Swollen…” He placed the aspirin down on the table beside her and bent down to look at his sister’s hands. “They really are swollen Harry! Have they been like this all the way through the pregnancy?”

            “Every pregnant woman gets swollen hands, my ankles are swollen too!” She laughed. “You must know that Johnny! It’s only been in the past few days that it’s gotten worse…” John was turning over his sister’s hands, examining them minutely; then very suddenly he dropped right to his knees and pulled up Harry’s trouser leg to see her ankles. “Johnny! What are you doing?”

            “Nothing.” He mumbled, clambering to his feet.

            “Is everything okay?” She asked.

            “Yeah, yeah… I’ll just be back in a second.” John agreed rather absent mindedly; John disappeared out of the room and Sherlock and Harry heard his footsteps clattering up the next floor, where his bedroom was. He came thundering back down an instant later, carrying with him a grey bag which Sherlock recognised as his medical bag – he rummaged in it and drew out a blood pressure cuff. “Can you roll up your sleeve?” He commanded, and Harry did as she was told with slight surprise at her brother’s sudden change. John fastened the cuff around her left arm above her elbow and began to pump it up, staring intently at the number dial.

            “What is it?” She asked, a slight undertone of worry present in her voice now.

            “Your blood pressure is really high.” John answered, removing the cuff from her arm. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

            “Well…” She started slowly, pausing for a moment to consider her answer. “I’m not exactly the most comfortable… but that’s to be expected, I _am_ pregnant… if I didn’t feel a bit like a beached whale then I’d be surprised!” She was attempting to be humorous, but the stern manner which was set into John’s features was clearly unnerving her.

            “Did your nurse say anything at your appointment?”

            “She told me to take it easy… that I should be resting at the moment and not placing any extra stress on myself…” Harry responded, “I have been resting, but I’m moving flats soon and this isn’t anything I’d ever thought would happen, so of course there is a little bit of stress on me.” John was shuffling equipment back into his bag. “What? Johnny… You’re scaring me a bit…”

            “I’m just a little concerned about your blood pressure being that high if you’re not doing anything.” John bit his lip, he had been avoiding saying anything, but he had been a medic for too long, he couldn’t stop that part of him taking over.

            “I came here for you to be my moral support, not my doctor!” Harry said bluntly.

            “I know, I know…” John brushed it aside, “But it’s difficult not to look at things from a medical point of view when you’re a doctor.”

            “Can I have that aspirin now?” She asked after a moments silence, but before John could even respond she had taken a sharp intake of breath and rubbed the top of her bump.

            “What? What is it?” John jumped in quickly.

            “Nothing John!” She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes. “God, if I thought you were going to stress about every little thing then I wouldn’t have told you! Oh…”

            “No seriously Harry, what is it?” John commanded.

            “Nothing out of the ordinary, it’s just Braxton hicks… the nurse told me that was perfectly normal!” Harriet responded.

            “Already…? I thought you said you were only seven and a half months?” John questioned, standing back up from where he had been kneeling.

            “I am.”

            “That’s too early for Braxton Hicks Harriet… which hospital have you been going to?” There was no stopping John from turning on his medical brain and the concern in his voice was so obvious now that Sherlock had sat up in his chair and was paying attention.

            “Hammersmith…” She answered, her face was beginning to look a little bit pink – whether from annoyance at John, or from something else, Sherlock was attempting to watch to decipher the signs.

            “I think we should go to St. Barts and get you checked over…” John told her.

            “Don’t be so stupid! I’m fine!” Harry answered, placing down her mug which was now empty and pushed herself up from the chair. “I think it’s time for me to head home.” She stated.

            “Do you want me to come home with you, to make sure you get home okay?” John offered.

            “No thanks, I can manage on my own. I’m pregnant, not incapable.” Harry insisted, zipping up her jacket to just underneath her chin.

            “Okay…” John agreed rather reluctantly, “But you will keep in touch, yeah? Let me know if you need anything, or if anything happens.”

            “Of course I will!” She nodded, “You’ll be sick of hearing from me soon enough! Thanks Johnny!” She gave John a tentative hug, then proceeded to leave. John stood watching her making her way down the stairs, then retook up his place at the bay window, watching for her emerging out onto the street.

            “That’s a fair turn up for the books…” He muttered quietly, twitching the curtains and looking down into the streetlamp glow. “I never in my life thought I’d see Harry pregnant… She was looking better though, much better than I’ve seen her in a long time.” He was musing aloud more than directly speaking to Sherlock.

            “There was something not quite right though.” Sherlock broke in upon John’s personal thoughts. “You should have stuck to your medical instincts.” John dropped the curtain out of the grip of his fingers and turned to stare at Sherlock, who appeared to be minutely examining his fingernails.

            “What?” He growled, “Why didn’t you back me up when I was telling her we should go to the hospital?!”

            “It wasn’t my place to say anything.” Sherlock replied placidly.

            “ _It wasn’t your place?!_ ” John barked, “When has anything ever _not_ been your place? Why choose now to respect the social niceties?”

            “Well she is _your_ sister; why would she listen to me over you?” Sherlock shrugged non-chalantly, John sighed heavily in slight annoyance at Sherlock and his double standards about certain topics.

            “Maybe I should go after her…  Insist that I take her to the hospital.” John wondered aloud.

            “She wouldn’t go.” Sherlock stated bluntly.

            “How do you know?” John snapped.

            “Because she’s _just_ as stubborn as you are, if not more!” Sherlock replied hotly, “Put yourself in her place, and no, she isn’t going to go.”

            “Hmmm… You’re maybe right.” John murmured quietly.

            _Thump, thump, thump, thump!_ The noise startled both John and Sherlock who stared expectantly at the top of the staircase waiting for someone to enter, but no one appeared.

            “Chap door run?” John suggested.

            “I don’t think so.” Sherlock shook his head, getting up out of his armchair. “Come down.” John followed him down the stairs, feeling his own nerves at a height of some tension as they crept down. Sherlock braced himself for a moment with his hand on the door handle and then pulled it open; John’s heart, which had leapt into his throat, froze as the two of them stared out into the empty street.

            “John-“ A strangled croak came from down on the doorstep and John’s eyes travelled down and fixed in horror upon Harry, who was on her knees, doubled over holding her bump. “John!” There was a quaver in her voice, “Something’s wrong!” She held out her hand and there was blood all over her fingers.

            “Oh god…” John couldn’t prevent the words escaping his lips as he stooped down and secured his grip around Harry’s arm. “Help me get her inside, Sherlock.” Sherlock dutifully bent to help, and the two men helped Harriet inside and up the stairs; she was trembling severely as they placed her into an armchair. “Phone an ambulance Sherlock.” John commanded, busying himself to help his sister.

            “John… I’m losing it, aren’t I?” She half sobbed; she was staring at the blood on her hand which was rapidly drying. John could feel his heart beating in his mouth, all the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end – how could he honestly answer that question?

            “Not if I can help it.” John told her firmly. “You need to let me examine you Harry, until the paramedics arrive.” She nodded; her eyes were filling with tears. John helped her out of her jacket, fastening the blood pressure cuff around her arm once more and began to take a reading.

            “Ambulance is on its way, should be here quickly. “Sherlock informed them, then he stood mutely for a few seconds. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

            “You could take her pulse?” John requested and Sherlock took a hold of her wrist that John wasn’t using to measure Harry’s blood pressure.

            “What’s happening?” Harry asked, “John, it _hurts_ … I… please don’t let me lose it!” She pleaded, tears now spilling onto her cheeks and running down her face.

            “Is the bleeding heavy Harry?” John asked, unfastening the cuff.

            “I only realised when it was running down my leg…” She replied, her leggings were stained with the dark red liquid. “I’m not supposed to be bleeding! It means something bad is happening!” She wailed rather mournfully.

            “What’s her pulse Sherlock?” John asked.

            “One hundred and thirty-three… her heart’s racing.” He answered.

            “That’s hardly unexpected!” At that moment they were broken in upon by a knock at the downstairs door and the call of;

            “Hello? Paramedics?”

            “We’re up here!” Sherlock shouted and the thump of feet became present on the stairs, and two men came charging into the room. John had straightened up to greet them as they came into the room and inform them of what was happening.

            “This is Harriet, thirty one years old, seven and a half months pregnant. She started bleeding fairly heavily about fifteen minutes ago. Her pulse is a hundred and thirty three and her blood pressure is 157 over 74.” He said very curtly, and then in reply to the curious looks that the paramedics were giving him: “I’m a doctor.”

            “Alright Harriet, it’s okay, we’re going to do our best to help you.” One of the paramedics had bent down to speak to her. “We want to take you in to get checked over, do you think you can walk down the stairs and out into the ambulance?”

            “Yes.” Harry whispered weakly, and with John on one arm and one of the paramedics on the other, they helped Harry out of the armchair. Harry was shaking so much that John was convinced she was about to drop down in a faint at any moment, so he tightened his grip upon her arm. While the paramedic who had assisted in helping Harriet down the stairs strapped her into the chair, the other paramedic asked: “Are you the father?”

            “Uuuh… no, I’m her brother.” John replied rubbing the back of his head, his eyes were focussed on Harry. This was all happening so fast – a couple of hours ago none of this had been in his knowledge at all…

            “Do you want to come with her to the hospital? We can take one person in the ambulance.” He offered.

            It was one of those moments that Sherlock instantly knew how to react, he took a step backwards and shoved John forwards.

            “Sherlock, will you come behind us?” John requested lowly as he climbed into the back of the ambulance.

            “I’ll follow you in a taxi.” He nodded, he hadn’t underappreciated the seriousness of what was going on, and the tone of fear that was rife in John’s voice.

            “Can you take us to St. Barts, please?” John asked the paramedic, “It’s just I have colleagues who work there and I’d rather her be seen by one of them…”

            “Yeah, of course. I’ll just close the door now and get on our way.” He slammed the door of the ambulance closed, then ran round the side of the vehicle to jump in the driver’s seat.

            Sherlock watched as the ambulance started to move, lights flashing and sirens blaring along the deserted road before turning back into 221B.

            “Mrs. Hudson!” He yelled, unhooking his coat from the peg which it hung upon near the door.

            “What is it Sherlock?” She came bustling out of the entrance of her flat, looking slightly put out at having been called upon. “Did I see paramedics here? What’s going on?”

            “John’s sister has been taken to hospital.” Sherlock informed her.

            “Oh dear… she did look rather uncomfortable when I let her in! Is there anything I can do to help?” She patted Sherlock’s forearm as though he needed comforting, as he fastened several of the buttons on the front of his long coat.

            “Breakfast in the morning would be great.” Sherlock tried on the off chance, knowing the response he was about to get.

            “I’m not your housekeeper Sherlock.” She said, then her face softened. “I’ll see what I can do. Are you going after them?” Sherlock nodded. “What hospital have they taken her to?”

            “St. Barts.” Sherlock answered. “John knows quite a few people who work in there, so he wanted her to go there.”

            “Alright, well – you give them my best wishes, will you Sherlock?”

            “I will do, Mrs. Hudson.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are hotting up - I'd be grateful for any criticism/feedback about what you think about this chapter!


	4. Chapter Four

            John’s own hand was beginning to feel slippery and sweaty from holding such a tight grip on Harry’s hand, she was clinging onto him just as much.

            “John…” Harry’s voice was breaking. “I’m scared.” She whispered; her face was clearly set in abject terror. “I don’t want to lose my baby.”

            “It’s alright Harry, we’re nearly there, it’s going to be alright – I promise.” John heard the words coming out of his mouth in an attempt to comfort her, but he couldn’t quite muster the belief in what he was saying. The siren was loud inside the cavity of the ambulance, and John felt as though his heart was droning in time with the wailing of it. The ambulance screeched to a halt and John could hear the driver’s door slam, before the back doors were flung apart. It was all happening so quickly, as they unloaded Harriet and wheeled her in through the doors. He could hear the paramedic debriefing the meeting doctor at the doors of the accident and emergency department:

            “She needs to be taken straight to obstetrics.” John heard the end of the sentence as he raced after them. “She began bleeding heavily around twenty five minutes ago, this is John her brother – he came with her in the ambulance.”

            “Can you ask for Dr. Ferris to see her, please?” John hurriedly asked the doctor who was leading them towards the lift which led to the maternity unit. “I know him; I want _him_ to see her.”

            “Alright, alright.” The doctor agreed with John’s request.

            “Please, don’t let me lose the baby.” Harry sobbed frenetically.

            “We’re going to do our best to look after you and baby.” She wheeled Harry into an empty room. “Right, let’s just get you up onto this bed and we can get you checked out thoroughly.” Harriet was incredibly shaky and her legs looked as though they were about to give way underneath her as the doctor and a present nurse helped her onto the bed. Her breathing was erratic, panicked – somewhat on the verge of hyperventilation. “Alright Harriet – I want you to take some deep breaths in, we need to calm your breathing down. Just like this: in, out, that’s it! In, out – well done!” Harry’s breathing became quieter and calmer in accordance with what the doctor was advising her to do.

            “It’s Harry…” She corrected.

            “Alright. Could you wait outside for a few minutes, please? Just while we get Harry ready for the consultant.” The nurse asked, looking at John.

            “Oh, oh… alright, yeah – just outside?” He stammered, watching both of them attending to Harry; he stumbled backwards and exited the room. He leant his back against the wall, his heart was racing, he could tell that something was seriously wrong – despite a lack of knowledge about obstetrics and gynaecology. He knew that pregnant women weren’t meant to bleed and that anyone with blood pressure that high must have something going have something going on inside them. Footsteps reverberated around the corridor as they came closer, John looked up to see someone who had once been a student alongside him.

            “Kevin!” John exclaimed as the man proceeded towards him.

            “John?” His eyebrow raised in a flicker of recognition. “Why are you here?”

            “I called for you, it’s my sister…” John gushed, following behind him into the room where his sister lay. She was bedecked in a hospital gown, her face flushed red and she was still breathing heavily. The attending doctor gave a brief, hurried explanation of what was happening.

            “Hello Harry, I’m Dr. Ferris. Can you tell me if you’re in any pain at the moment?” He asked her calmly.

            “Not real pain…” She replied, pushing herself upright on the bed. “Just like cramps.”

            “Right, I’m going to examine you quickly – are you alright with John staying in the room?” He asked her, she nodded. He began to press his hands gently along her bump, asking how it felt where he pressed. “Have you experienced any cramping or bleeding in the past couple of days?”

            “I’ve been getting Braxton hicks, but my midwife said that was perfectly normal.” Harry answered.

            “How long has this been occurring?”

            “About a week now.” She placed her hand protectively upon the top of her belly – the tears had stopped now but her voice was still ringing with fear.

            “That long?” She nodded. “Thank you for letting us know that Nurse McGee I need full bloods, U’s and E’s and a urine sample – I want you to get it rushed through the labs, tell them we’re testing for proteinuria. I also want stats monitored frequently, blood pressure, pulse, everything.” He commanded, the nurse nodded and busied herself immediately. “I’ll be back shortly.” He told Harriet, John watched as he began to leave and then he chased him out of the room into the corridor.

            “Kevin… Kevin!” John called after him, he stopped abruptly and turned round. “What are you thinking?” He asked pleadingly, not wanting to be left out of the lip as he knew so many patients often were. “Pre eclampsia?”

            “That’s what it looks like at the moment…” He admitted, nodding. “That’s why I’m anxious to get a urine sample and get it tested – then we’ll have a better chance of knowing what’s going on and how to combat it. I’m going to get the head midwife from maternity to come along and take a look at Harry; if we get the answer that I think we’re to, then we might have to consider delivering the baby sooner than planned.”

            “But she’s only seven and a half months pregnant!” John protested, his insides curling up inside him at the thought that they potentially might have to deliver the baby very early – and the risk that that would have.

            “That’s why I’m going to get a midwife John, we need to know the best course of action for mum and baby – if we can delay then we’ll do our best to do so.” He knew there was no point in sugar coating it with John, as he would see right through it instantly. “I’ll be back soon.” John watched him charging along the corridor away from him standing; the hairs on the back of John’s neck had stood on end – briefly he had thought it might be pre eclampsia, but he had dismissed that thought from his mind as he knew how serious a medical condition that was. Now with the confirmation that it possibly could be something so serious, his head was sent into a whirlwind of worry.

            “John? John!” Harry’s voice was calling from inside the room that she was occupying, John composed his exterior from the state of shocked confirmation that he was feeling and turned back into the room.

            “Sorry Harry… I was seeing what Kevin is planning to do.” He apologised, she was sat up with her back against the headboard of the bed looking more and more uncomfortable by the second.

            “What is it? What’s wrong?” She asked, there was a waver present in her voice that made John’s guts turn to lead at the thought of what he was about to say.

            “Nothing.” He lied, pulling the seat nearer to the side of Harry’s bed and grabbing onto Harry’s hand. “It’s nothing, he was just telling me he wants to get a couple of tests completed before he does anything.”

            “Don’t lie to me Johnny.” Harry’s voice suddenly reminded him of when they were kids. “I can tell when you’re lying, I always know.”

            “I’m not lying, I don’t know anything. Kevin won’t tell me until the tests are done.” He replied quickly. The nurse who had been drawing blood from Harry finished her job and, vials in hand, left the room leaving Harry and John on their own. There was a silence that neither Harry or John felt comfortable to break, so John maintained his grip upon her hand as though using that as his symbol of his support.

            “What’s proteinuria?” Harry finally asked.

            “It’s too much protein in the urine; it’s normally a sign that the kidneys aren’t working too well.” John told her.

            “What would that have to do with the baby?” She shook her head in slight confusion.

            “I… I don’t know Harry – I never did enough training in obstetrics to know about anything in this field – and I’m sorry, but that’s the truth!” John answered.

            “Okay... it’s just – ah!” She stopped and her face contorted into an expression of pain.

            “What? What is it?” John hurriedly quizzed her.

            “Nothing… it’s just the same as before John – don’t fuss.” She batted him down, but her voice didn’t sound convincing.

            “I wish Kevin would hurry up!” He exclaimed in some impatience; there came a knock at that moment and John whipped round in expectation. Unfortunately it was not exactly who he desired to see – standing in the doorway was Sherlock.

            “Am I interrupting?” He asked rather briskly, obviously noticing John’s look of disappointment.

            “No, no…” John shook his head, “I was just hoping that it was Kevin coming back or the midwife…”

            “Sorry, I was wondering if I could get you anything?” Sherlock had remained at the doorway, sensing the air that it was not his place to intrude. “Clothes? Something to drink?”

            “Well… uh…” John glanced at Harry. “Harry will need some clothes and toiletries and things.”

            “Would you like me to collect some things from your flat?”

            “That would be great.” Harry smiled, looking from John to Sherlock. “If it’s not too much trouble – the keys to my flat are in my coat pocket.” She told him; John sprang to his feet and rummaged in Harry’s pocket and produced a set of keys.

            “I’ll be two minutes Harry.” John said, and followed Sherlock out of the room. Once in the corridor Sherlock turned to John:

            “How is she?” He asked, John was slightly taken aback at this concern for his sister coming from Sherlock.

            “I don’t know, we’ve got to wait for the tests to come back – they might have to deliver the baby early.” John replied in a low pitch.

            “Pre eclampsia?” John stared at Sherlock in disbelief.

            “How did you-”

            Just a suspicion.” Sherlock casted off casually.

            “It adds up.” John nodded and fell silent.

            “Well… I’ll collect those things for her.” Sherlock began. “Do you need anything brought in?” John shook his head. “Very well… I shan’t be too long.” He turned to leave again.

            “Sherlock?” John called. “Thank you.”

 


	5. Chapter Five

            It was thirty five minutes before anyone appeared at the room to see Harry and in the time in between John had become increasingly agitated. He had let go of Harry’s hand and had taken to pacing around the room looking irritated and sighing heavily.

            “Will you sit down Johnny? You’re making me feel uncomfortable.” Harry said repeatedly, rubbing her bump and allowing the appearance of discomfort became more prevalent on her features.

            “Where the hell has Kevin got to?” John was fuming, making himself more and more irate. “He said he was going to be back soon!” John scuffed his shoes on the edge of the wall and peered around the edge of the door every time he walked across the floor.

            “Johnny… either sit down, or tell me what you know, because you can’t be this worked up for no reason.” Harry demanded; John paused for a split second in his pacing and then begun moving again.

            “I don’t know anything Harry… I thought Kevin would be back by now – I thought we would know _something._ ” John strained over his words.

            “But you’re making me nervous!” She said, “Please, sit down.” John stopped pacing, but bounced anxiously upon the balls of his feet.

            “I’m just… just getting annoyed!” John answered, “I asked for Kevin because I _thought_ he would be the most attentive – that he would give you the care that you deserve!”

            “And I’m sure that he will…” She said placidly, “But I’m not the only patient in this hospital… and I’m fairly sure that the blood they took can’t be instantaneously tested.” John scowled, but he recognised the truth in her words.

            He was still standing when, finally, Kevin returned with an accompanying woman – who John took as the midwife.

            “I’m sorry it took me so long to get someone free.” He apologised, maybe perceiving the frosty way that John was conducting himself. “We still have to wait for the results of the tests I ordered, but I thought it would be good if Nurse Williams examined Harriet. John, would you like to wait outside while she does?”

            “No, I’ll stay right here, thank you very much.” He snapped.

            “Johnny!” Harry reprimanded him quickly. “Do as you’re told! I’m not a child, wait outside – I’ll be fine.” John hesitated, wishing to argue with his sister, but the stern look she was giving him made it quite clear what his place was and he stalked from the room. Across the corridor, underneath the window of an empty room, there was a line of three plastic chairs – John sat down in one, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

            Three hours ago John hadn’t known anything about this situation at all… and now here he was, sitting in a hospital waiting to hear what a doctor had to say about Harry. It was very different viewing it from this side; John was used to being the doctor ad getting slightly irascible with over-anxious relatives and friends of a patient. Many a time had he joked about with colleagues afterwards about how a relative had been too wrought, too desperate and had made his work difficult, but it was very different seeing it from this side… Desperate for any kind of news, anxious about what was going on – what was being said without him being present. From now on, no matter how serious the situation, he would always understand how the worries of a patient’s family could be paramount. There was a loud click and then the sound of creaking wheels, and suddenly the bed that Harry was on was in the corridor with her on it, being pushed by Nurse Williams and Kevin.

            “What’s going on?” John demanded instantly. “Where are you going?!”

            “I think it would be best for Harriet to be in a maternity ward, we’re taking her up there now – you’re welcome to come John.” Kevin told him as John ran along after them hassled at this new change.

            “Why maternity?”

            “We can’t be certain until we get the results of the tests back, but I think that it’s the best place for her to be – and there’ll be more people available to look after her up there.” Kevin told him as he wheeled the trolley into a lift and John crammed in alongside the bed, grabbing her hand.

            “It’s alright Johnny, stop panicking will you?” She said quietly.

            “I’m your brother, and a doctor, it’s my job to want to know what’s going on with you.” He replied.

            “You didn’t seem so eager to know what was going on with me six months ago…” She murmured, John tensed up suddenly.

            “You know fine well the reasons for that.” John had made it clear to Harry that while she was still proceeding in drinking herself to death that he didn’t want anything to do with her, but if she decided to change her mind he would be there to help her. He had purposely chosen not to have anything to do with her while she was drunk… Well she had changed, and she had done it all without John’s help or knowledge.

            “Yeah well – I’m not incapable, so stop panicking; it’s making me more nervous. You’re meant to be my moral support alright – not the other way around!” John felt slightly guilty at this reprimand by his sister which was definitely true.

            “Sorry.” John muttered, gripping tightly to the railings on Harry’s bed as they wheeled her into a bay room.

            “I’m going to go and chase your results; I’ll leave you with Nurse Williams. I promise you, John, I will be back before too long.” He attempted to appease John’s twitchy anxiousness, then turned to the nurse and said: “Can you please keep an eye on her blood pressure? Call for me if anything changes.” Nurse Williams was left in the room with John and Harry – she continued to fix a cannula into Harry’s left elbow and attached it up to a drip of clear liquid.

            “Right Harriet, that’s some painkillers I’m administering just now, so they shouldn’t take too long to come into effect and you’ll be a bit more comfortable. If you need anything or if you feel any new pain, or just anything – press your buzzer and myself or one of the other nurses will come in and see if we can help.” She advised and Harry nodded in acknowledgement that she understood.

            “What did they say Harry?” John asked the moment that the nurse had left the room.

            “Nothing really…” She replied slowly, “Except from that I’ve stopped bleeding.”

            “Does it still hurt?”

            “Well she’s just given me painkillers – so what do you think?” She snapped.

            “Sorry.” John apologised, “What does it feel like?” Harry’s reaction was one that surprised John; she exhaled heavily and let her head fall back onto the pillow behind her.

            “Do I have to keep repeating myself over and over?” She moaned and said: “Can’t you just let me get some rest?” There was a small silence.

            “Do you want me to leave you alone for a while, or… I don’t know… get you some water?” John questioned, feeling the prickly atmosphere almost visibly emanating from his sister; she shrugged and John took that to mean yes.

            In leaving the room, John found himself very much lost for what to do with himself… He _wanted_ to be with Harry, he _wanted_ to make sure she was alright; but clearly she wished to be on her own for some time. He wandered down the bleached clean corridors which were shining bright white despite the patches of dark that were coming in through the windows dotted around the place. More than most, John knew the inner workings of the hospital, he knew the directions that the corridors would take him and where they would lead – but still he wandered aimlessly along them, as though in a daze.

            Eventually John arrived at the main reception, after climbing up several sets of stairs and descending even more. He was entirely lost for time – it had just so happened that he hadn’t put on his watch today. He wondered whether he had been away long enough for Harry to have gotten some rest… It’s not like he had forced her to let him come, she had wanted him there; yet ordering him out of the room doesn’t generally bode well for the feelings of everyone involved. Maybe he was still a bit tetchy from the pain in his shoulder – but, come to think about that, he couldn’t recall feeling any pain from the moment that Harriet had arrived at 221B… But maybe that was the shock of everything, possibly that had obliterated any prior thoughts or feelings of pain as he took in the new information about his sister, and was then so hurriedly required to help. He hadn’t had _time_ to think about his shoulder. Perhaps Sherlock was right about that also; did he really become insufferable because he allowed the pain he was experiencing to take over his life and prevent him from doing anything which might take his mind off of it? Ah! This was not the time to be thinking about that sort of thing, he should be concentrating on Harry and making sure that she was alright before thinking about anything else… He stood just outside of the revolving door, beside all the smokers – whether they be patients of relatives of someone in the hospital – taking in deep breath after deep breath.

            “Why are you not with your sister, John?” A voice came from right next to John and he jumped to see Mycroft Holmes standing next to him. He exhaled loudly and shook his head.

            “God, does Sherlock not keep his mouth shut when something is not his business!” John grumbled, this was very much back to the first days of when he met Sherlock – when Mycroft tailed him like a guard dog making sure that John was good for his brother.

            “Do you honestly think Sherlock would contact me?” Mycroft asked scathingly, one eyebrow raised so high it was in danger of disappearing off his face.

            “Well…” John paused at this statement. “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”

            “How is your sister?” He asked.

            “She’ll be alright. Pre eclampsia, they think.” John relented back in his general courtesy to Mycroft. “They’ll probably keep her in, they might have to deliver the baby early.”

            “She’s in the best hands.” Mycroft answered curtly. “I would have thought Sherlock would be here also.”

            “He’s gone to collect a few things for Harry.” John told him, and again it struck him the generosity of this act by Sherlock. “It’s good of him.”

            “Yes. I can’t say that it’s not a slight surprise… but he values his friendship with you.” Mycroft nodded, “If there’s anything you need, have Sherlock contact me and I shall do my best.”

            “Thanks.” John accepted, but already Mycroft was moving to leave.

            If Sherlock had been with him, he would have used the current time to have a cigarette (or five) – right now John could understand Sherlock’s relapses into that habit whenever he was bored or frustrated. It was something to do with your hands when there was nothing else for them to be doing. Instead John ran his fingers around his wrists repeatedly, then ran his hands across his face; and then repeated this action several times.

            “Need something to do with your hands?” A voice came projecting out of the taxi which had just drawn up at the drop off point at the front of the main reception; Sherlock slammed the door of the cab and stood directly in front of John.

            “Oh, it’s you.” John replied.

            “Yes, I brought a bag for Harry.” He raised the bag as though indicating what he was bringing. “Why aren’t you with Harry?”

            “She wanted some space to get some rest.” John answered, rubbing his hands across his face once more. “So I left her for a while… She’s been moved to maternity and she’s stopped bleeding, but she’s not completely out of the woods yet.”

            “Good. I’m glad that it’s good news.” Sherlock nodded.

            “Your brother has been to visit.” John told him bluntly. “Not Harry – he just appeared outside the hospital, left not long before you arrived.”

            “Can’t keep his nose out of anyone’s business, can he?” Sherlock muttered.

            “How does he find out things like this?” John asked suddenly – Mycroft always seemed to know _everything…_ and without an informer it would be interesting to find out how he did it.

            “He has eyes everywhere.” Sherlock answered.

            “A bit like your homeless network then?”

            “He does it the legal way though. He doesn’t need the eyes and ears of London checking up on things for him, he’s got access to every CCTV camera and every policeman, and everything important about this city.” Sherlock nodded, “He is the overseeing eye… what did he want?”

            “To check how everything was.” John replied, “Being the guard dog.”

            “Ah… it’s typical of him.” Sherlock exhaled heavily; there was a silence between the two of them and then Sherlock suggested: “Should we go up and see your sister now?”

            “Yeah, well – no time like the present.” He agreed.

            It still felt strange, like he hadn’t quite got his head around the facts that had presented themselves today – Harry was pregnant and going to have a baby. She would need every bit of help and support that John had to offer… now was the time to let go of the past completely and focus on what was about to come.

            But what was to come was going to arrive a hell of a lot sooner than John had expected… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you think of this chapter! :)


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being really slow with updates, but I promise I'm still working on this (and am updating as quickly as I have time to). :(

            The maternity ward of a hospital was never a quiet place, but the screeches that were issuing from one of the rooms were the most spine chilling noises that John had ever heard. It was only once the double door had swung shut behind him that he recognised the voice that was screaming.

            “Oh my god…!” It screeched, “Where the _fuck_ is he?!”

            “That… that sounds like Harry…” John murmured suddenly, then sped up walking down the corridor.

            “Fuuuuck!” Turning the corner of the door that Harry resided in, john found her standing, gripping onto the metal rim at the end of the bed. “John! Where the fuck have you been?”

            “What’s going on?” He rushed to her side and put his hands on her shoulders, she was trembling severely. “Harry?! What…” Nurse Williams came bustling into the room at that precise moment, her hands full of analgesics.

            “Oh there you are!” She exclaimed, “Harriet was asking for you, but we didn’t know where to look for you.”

            “What’s happened?!” John screamed, looking from Harry to the nurse in abject horror and confusion. “I was only gone for about fifteen minutes!”

            “I got up to go to the toilet, and well…” Harry panted, her face was bright red and she looked like her knees were about to give way beneath her.

            “Harriet’s waters have broken.” The nurse said bluntly.

            “What?!” John yelled. “But – what?! Can’t you do anything to stop the baby coming?”

            “We’ve been trying to do that since Harriet arrived, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to stop it now.” The nurse was incredibly calm, but John’s head was reeling.

            “Where’s Kevin? I want him here – I want him to assess her _right_ now!” John demanded, the nurse nodded.

            “I’ve paged him, he’s on his way.” She replied, “Right Harriet, let’s get you back into bed and try and make you more comfortable.” She held onto Harry’s upper arm and began to help her slowly edge her way around the bed.

            “Oh… oh no! It’s starting again!” Harry said suddenly, “Oh god, no – this can’t be happening! It’s too early!” She was half sobbing, placing her hand upon her bump. “It’ll be too little! Please… find a way to make it stop!” She begged.

            “It’s alright Harry.” John grabbed his sister’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Everything will be alright – come on, if the baby is on its way then we can cope with that together, okay?”

            “No! John… I can’t do this!” Harry shook her head and retightened her grip on John’s hand. “I can’t! I’m not ready for this!” Tears were spilling over onto her cheeks and her breathing was becoming increasingly erratic.

            “Yes, you can.” John lied, he didn’t even know what he was saying – but it sounded like the right thing. “Come on Harry, we can do this together.”

            “No, I can feel it coming!” She shook her head.

            “Then we need to get you sorted right now.” Kevin strided into the room.

            “Harriet’s waters broke about ten minutes ago; I think she needs reassessing.” Nurse Williams informed Dr. Ferris.

            “Alright Harry, how are you feeling? Are you in pain?” He asked, gently pressing his hand at her bump.

            “It feels like the baby’s coming!” Harry wailed, “But it’s not time yet – I’m only twenty seven weeks!”

            “Well, it feels like baby has got different ideas… The head’s engaged, so Nurse Williams I think we need to inform paediatrics because the baby will probably need some extra help when it arrives.” Kevin told the nurse, but John was shaking his head.

            “No… no!” John exclaimed, “Is there nothing you can do to stop the baby coming? There _must_ be _something!”_

            “John… you know as well as I do that once the mother’s waters have broken, there’s not very much we can do. The results of the tests show extremely high levels of protein in Harriet’s urine – she’s definitely got pre eclampsia… I’m rather surprised that her midwife didn’t pick this up!” Kevin was talking directly to John, who had sunk his head into his hands. “The most important thing we can do now is make sure that mum and baby and both alright throughout the delivery.”

            “Oh god… oh god!” Harry ran her fingers through her hair, she was hyperventilating. “John, I… can’t – this – no…”

            “Harry, breathe in – take a breath in and now breathe out.” Sherlock had suddenly broke in to the conversation from the other side of the room; John and Kevin had been too distracted. “That’s it, now again… In and out.” Harry tried to do what Sherlock was telling her to, taking several stuttering breaths in and letting them out.

            “Oh…! Oh, I can feel… I think I need to push! What do I do?” Harry scrambled, pushing herself further up on the bed and her eyes widening in absolute terror.

            “Right, alright Harriet – let’s get you sitting up properly…” Nurse Williams helped to prop Harry up. “It’s a contraction – it’s a good thing Harriet, it means you won’t have to get a C-section.” John grabbed Kevin by the wrist and dragged him out of the room, Sherlock followed behind him.

            “Kevin, she’s not ready… the baby’s not ready – it’s only seven and a half months.” John said pleadingly.

            “John, there’s nothing we can do now…” Kevin replied honestly.

            “Well… I need to know the stats, how much of a chance does the baby have?” John asked.

            “It is very premature; we’re going to have to get it checked over. It might be completely fine, but it might have some learning difficulties or disabilities – we’ll do our best John.”

            “John!” Harry’s voice called out from in the room; he rushed back in and grabbed Harry’s hand once more. “It’s alright Harry, I’m going to be here with you all the way – you can do this! I know you can!” He encouraged her as she was panting and looking the most scared he had ever seen her.

            “Right Harriet, just lay back for a minute, I’m going to examine you.” Nurse Williams said to Harry, helping her to lie back onto the pillows. Sherlock shuffled his feet where he had been standing.

            “Do you want me to go for a while?” He asked suddenly, looking uncomfortable at the position he was in.

            “It’s up to Harriet.” Nurse Williams paused and looked at Harry.         

            “I don’t care!” She said through gritted teeth, her face was screwed up in pain; Sherlock moved over to the side so he was standing behind John.

            “How are you feeling just now Harriet?” Nurse Williams asked, “Are you feeling at the contraction at the moment?”

            “Is that what the fuck it is?!” Harry strained, squeezing even more tightly on John’s hand.

            “Well if you’re feeling tightness then that’s what it is!” She replied.

            “Then yes!” Harry nodded, she let her head fall back against the pillow that was propping her up. John was flicking his gaze between Harry and the nurse –waiting for the latter to pronounce judgement on what was to happen.

            “Alright,” The nurse said, “The baby obviously has decided it is coming today, you’re already six centimetres dilated.”

            “Oh God…” Harry covered her face with her hands, “I… but I don’t have stuff, I’ve not got everything ready for the baby yet! I’ve not even moved flats yet!”

            “It’s fine Harry, we’ll sort everything.” John reassured her. “You just focus on yourself at the moment.” Harry was taking great gasps of air in; her face had flushed bright red and there were beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

            “Six centimetres?!?” Harry yelled, “Six centimetres! Already?!”

            “Some women would do anything to trade for an easy labour Harriet!” The nurse joked encouragingly.

            “It… it doesn’t feel very – easy!” She refuted.

            “Most women know when they’re one centimetre dilated, so you’ve done well in getting to six this quickly!” Nurse Williams took Harry’s pulse again.

            “Can I have an epidural?” Harry begged.

            “I’m afraid it’s too late for that love; I’ll get you some gas and air though.” She told her.

            “I had this all planned out!”

            “Sometimes baby has plans of its own and mum doesn’t really get a say in it.” Nurse Williams said apologetically, “You’re doing really well Harriet; all you need to do is keep going.” She was on the other side of Harry.

            “I am keeping going!” Harry told her through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t feel right! It hurts!”

            “That’s good Harriet, it’s a good hurt.” John tried to be convincing. “It means new life!”

            “It doesn’t feel like that Johnny…” She appeared to have relaxed momentarily. “Ah, it’s stopped…”

            “Take a good deep breath, it’ll help with the next contraction.”

            “Johnny… Please, I’m not able to do this on my own.” She reiterated.

            “Harry, you don’t need to do any of it on your own. I’m here to help you all the way, with looking after the baby and with where you’re staying and everything, so don’t worry about that just now – just focus on yourself.” John promised her.

            There were footsteps from outside in the corridor and suddenly the room was flooded with more people. Kevin had reappeared bringing a team of paediatric nurses and doctors to look after Harriet.

            “Do they all have to be here?” John asked Kevin impatiently. “It’s a bit overcrowded!”

            “They just want to check Harriet over, then they’ll vacate the room but stay around in case they’re needed.” Kevin explained rather apologetically.

            “Johnny… John.” Harry whispered, lowering her voice dramatically so only John, and Sherlock stood behind him, could hear what she was saying. “I need you to promise me…” She started, but John silenced her almost instantly.

            “Ssssh, Harriet.” He had been standing slightly back from the bed gripping her hand, but he perched upon the edge now and shook his head. “You think about the baby just now, nothing else. I won’t tell you again.”

            “Maybe it would be a good idea if you go outside for a couple of minutes John and…” He looked expectantly at Sherlock, but Sherlock didn’t move an inch.

            “You really think he’s going to leave now?” Sherlock commented obviously.

            “We’re just trying to do the best for Harriet.” Kevin said placidly to Sherlock.

            “I can understand that, but the best you can do for her now is to look after her and allow John to keep looking after her.” Sherlock warned in the manner that was assuming to him, Kevin seemed to cower underneath Sherlock’s words. “It is a rather private moment and I think they’d appreciate it if half of the registrars on call weren’t in the room gaping.”

            “Okay, okay.” John had half registered what Sherlock was saying to Dr. Ferris, but he was too busy talking quietly to Harry; Kevin had got the message though and proceeded to usher as many unnecessary people out of the room.      

            “Thanks Sherlock.” John murmured in a second of calm as Dr. Ferris shooed out three or four young nurses.

            “No bother.” Sherlock said.

            “Ah…! No, it’s happening again!” Harry began to breathe heavily again, “It’s another contraction!”

            Harry’s pale skin had become completely masked by red blotches and her short hair was sticking to the side of her face. She had looked neat, well-kept when she arrived at the flat earlier on in the evening; and now she was completely dishevelled. So many people had warned her about the pains of childbirth, but Harry had never imagined anything quite like this – it was a searing, crunching pain right down in the depth of her bones. If this was what an ordinary childbirth felt like then why the hell did other women do it repeatedly? And why wouldn’t they have warned her that it would be like this? Cause it didn’t feel at all healthy, or proper, or life-giving – it felt wrong.

            “Johnny, you’ll help us – won’t you? You won’t let us go without?” She asked suddenly.

            “Harry, stop it. I promise I’ll be there to help you and the baby – you’ll be sick of the sight of me!” John gave her hand an extra tight reassuring squeeze.

            “Harriet, at the next contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can.” Nurse Williams was leaning at the other side of the bed to John, encouraging Harry as much as she could. “You can do it, it’s just a little further and baby will be with us.”

            “Why not yet?” Harry complained, resting her head back against one of the pillows, propping her upright.

            Sherlock watched in amazement as John seemed to know exactly how to react to her; whether it was just because she was his sister, or whether it was something deeper about him knowing how to connect with another human being, he wasn’t quite sure… but as he perched in the armchair beside the bed, he saw John gently stroking the side of her face. Sherlock had always rated John separately as a doctor, and as a friend – in the same way that a scientist would examine two parts of one specimen with differing criteria – but in combining them, Sherlock could understand as he watched where the compassion and care he expounded reached to the point of altruism, but combining that with his medical knowledge was actually slightly bizarre for him to watch. Sherlock, himself, was well enough versed in science and medicine to know that this situation was hardly the desirable one and that there was a great amount which hung in the balance; he could possibly see it even more so than John, as he was an outside observer… Although he was John’s friend, he had no over abiding loyalty or familial feelings towards Harriet, or the baby that was about to be John’s niece or nephew; and because of that he could watch – with the foreboding creeping feeling that something was going to go wrong gradually washing over him.

            Harry was no longer anywhere near the realms of caring how loud she was, or what she looked like any more – from the look on her face, her single priority at this moment was getting this baby out, then she’d be able to sort everything else out. 


	7. Chapter Seven

John would not have been surprised if the room that they had been placed in had been cut out of the hospital building and transplanted into somewhere near the equator; he was dripping in sweat but had no way to tell whether it was because of the heat of the room or the situation that he found himself in. He certainly was not the only person in the room feeling warm, Harriet was drenched through from the effort that she had been engaging in since she arrived.

"One more big push Harriet!" Nurse Williams looked as worn out as Harriet did, and she wasn't even the one who had to push. The only person who looked calm in the room was Sherlock, who was lounging in the armchair near the bed.

"Again?! You're telling me I need to push again?" Harry exclaimed, but she sounded absolutely exhausted. The colour had drained out of her face; her cheeks were no longer rosy pink but a dusky shade not far off that of sour milk. Initially Sherlock had felt slightly uncomfortable about remaining in the room as events proceeded further, but he had almost zoned himself out from Harri's shouting and the encouragement issuing forth from John and the nurse – he was watching, actually he was observing what was going on. He had no greater right or medical knowledge than that of John, his doctor friend or the nurse, but working in his field of work for so long had made him wary to the possibilities that could occur – and these possibilities didn't pan out well…

"Baby's head is crowning now, so one more big push and that should be it done!" Nurse Williams said reassuringly. "You're doing  _so_ well Harriet, just a little bit more and then you'll be able to have a bit of a rest."

"I had a plan… and a list… of things I had to do before I could think about the baby!" Harry panted, "I haven't got the flat sorted out, or a cot, or anything like that for the baby… I haven't even thought of names! Or got any baby clothes!"

"Harry, don't think about any of that! We can think of baby names, and we'll get you some baby clothes." John repeated for about the millionth time. "It's just a little bit more effort and we'll have baby here – all that other stuff will be fine, I promise you. I told you I was going to look after you; I'm not going to go back on that."

"Thank you," She whispered, from the look on her face it was quite obvious that she was having the beginnings of another contraction.

"Right Harriet – last one!" Nurse Williams told her, "One really big push, that's it."

John's heart had leapt into his mouth, he felt as though every nerve in his body might be trying to break free from inside him. This was a huge moment. John could hear Harry's teeth grinding together as she put all of the effort she could muster into this final push; John had been ignoring everything else that Nurse Williams was doing down at the end of the bed, until she said:

"That's it! That's it! Well done Harriet! The head's nearly out!" It all happened very fast – suddenly Harry was leaning back, letting out great gasps of air; the room was flooded with the doctors and nurses from the midwifery team that had been in the room earlier. "That's it! Welcome to the world baby!" In the quickness of the moment, John and Harry waited with baited breath to hear the baby cry for the first time – there seemed to be an incredibly long, resounding silence, despite the amount of people that were present in the room. Nurse Williams didn't even pause to tell them what sex the baby was, but wrapped the small body in a towel and carried it over to where the paediatric doctor was waiting.

"What is it?! Is everything okay?" Harri called frantically, "Oh my god. It's not… Why is it not crying?" She tried to push herself up on the bed, but John and Nurse Williams held her back.

"You need to let the team do their work Harriet." She said quietly, but John was feeling a sinking in his stomach – he could see the doctors and nurses huddled around the bay with the tiny figure lying on it. Oh god, this might not end well…

It seemed like a lifetime until there was the smallest of gurgling sounds and then the unmistakeable wail of a baby crying. John let out the breath that he hadn't realised he was holding and turned his attention quickly back round to Harry.

"Oh my goodness Harry! You did it!" John grabbed his sister into a tight hug, her face so pale but she reciprocated the hug well enough for John to suspect no wrong.

"Is it okay?" Harry asked quickly, the moment that John had let her go. Nurse Williams had moved over to where the team had been rapidly assessing the baby, bundling it up in clean cloths to bring it across to Harriet before they clothed it.

"Congratulations!" Nurse Williams told Harry, the still crying bundle in her arms, "It's a boy." She passed the boy across to Harry – who took her son into her arms and held him in such a way that an outsider would be likely not to think this was her first child.

"A boy." Harry breathed, looking down at the small bundle in her arms which had settled down slightly with her tender hold. John felt a strange swelling of pride inside him as he looked down at the tiny baby, which was bright pink and in need of his first wash; he could only imagine how Harry was feeling at this moment. "Is everything alright with him?"

"There's certainly nothing wrong with his lungs!" John smiled, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder as he took in the sight of his sister and his nephew.

"He'll need a thorough check, but it seems like he is perfectly developed for his age." Nurse Williams said reassuringly. "He is very premature, but his lungs and everything else appear to have developed well."

"Thank you." Harry replied, her eyes were welling up with grateful tears. John was fumbling with his other hand in the pocket of his jeans, and he pulled out his phone. "I want to get a picture of the two of you." John said taking a few steps back from the bed, and bringing both Harry and his nephew into focus on the screen on the phone. Once he took the photo Nurse Williams held out her hand:

"We better get one with uncle in as well." She said, John beamed – it felt strange to be called an uncle. He put his hand back onto Harry's shoulder and smiled as she snapped a photo of the three of them. "Aaaw, it's lovely. You should both be very proud." John took the phone back and stared at the photo for a long moment, the rest of the room was almost completely silent as Nurse Williams moved back to dispose of some of the equipment she had been using, and Harry was still staring, enamoured, at her son. John had lost himself in his own thoughts when Sherlock's voice broke the calmness within the room.

"Something's wrong." His voice stated sharply, John turned and stared at him in utter amazement, but Sherlock's gaze was not at John or the nurse – he was staring directly at Harriet. John followed his gaze, and saw that Harry's arms had become much looser so the baby was nearly falling out onto the bedclothes, and her eyes were glazed over.

"Harry?" John asked, but there was no response. "Harry, are you alright?" Still nothing. Nurse Williams had turned to look now, "Do you have a pen light?" John asked her and she delved into her pocket and produced one. John placed his hand on Harry's head, she was clammy and warm, he shone the light across her eyes. Almost as instantly as it had come, the warm swelling feeling deflated from inside him like a balloon with a puncture. "Nurse Williams, can you take the baby? Please – quickly!" She rushed forwards and retrieved the baby from Harry's arms, just as her eyes rolled upwards and only the whites could be seen. "Oh my god, help! Help!" John shouted, slamming his hand on every button on the alert panel above Harriet's head. "Oh god – Harry? Harriet?!" John shook her shoulders gently, but she was completely unconscious. "Something's wrong!" He remembered that Sherlock had been the one to notice that something was not right. "What did you see Sherlock?" John barked sharply. "How did you know something was wrong?"

"I just saw her staring… nothing else." Sherlock replied, John had pulled back the covers that had been covering half of Harriet's body. At this instant, he had no inhibitions about this being his sister rather than any other patient; he was pulling at the tie of her gown as Kevin ran into the room, followed by another nurse.

"What's going on?" Kevin asked suddenly.

"She just went unconscious! Something is wrong!" John shouted in reply; Kevin almost pushed him out of the way to gain access to the side of Harry's bed. Pulling aside the front of the gown, Kevin, John and Sherlock could see that the left side of Harry's torso was a mottled purple colour – the other side was exactly the same.

"Oh my god!" John exclaimed, his hands flying up to his face and gripping at his cheeks.

"She's bleeding internally, we need to get her into surgery to stop the bleed." Kevin said instantly, unhooking the bed and turning off the brakes in preparation for moving it. "Jenni, I need you to page Dr. Barker and Mr. Douglas – I need them to meet me in theatre three asap." The small nurse to whom he had been talking nodded and rushed off. Kevin, and another doctor who had appeared because of the alert call that had gone out, were moving Harry's bed – pushing it olut of the room and along the corridor; John ran along behind him.

"Can I do anything to help? I want to help! I was an army surgeon!" He cried.

"John, you know I can't let you operate on your own sister." Kevin answered, "You need to stay here, look after the baby –I'll keep you completely informed." They left John behind at the double doors to the theatre; he stood for a few moments, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He  _hated_ being unable to act – unable to help. After several minutes pacing back and forth across the entrance to the double doors, he turned back and walked along the corridors to the room that he had left Sherlock, Nurse Williams and his nephew in. As he approached the room, the only sound that he could hear was that of a crying baby. Surely, the baby must know also that his mother had just been rushed way; maybe too, he could sense the fear and anxiety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you think about this chapter!  
> (p.s. apologies for it taking me SO long to update! :( )


	8. Chapter Eight

 

"Oh, can you shut him up please!" John snapped frustrated, Nurse Williams had picked up the tiny baby and was cradling him in her arms – despite this he was still howling at the pitch of his lungs. Sherlock was slightly taken aback at the ferocity in John's voice, but John had his back towards both him and Nurse Williams so he couldn't see the contortion of fear and frustration that was marring his face.

"I'm going to take him upstairs to be properly assessed by the paediatrician." She said, throwing a glance at Sherlock who nodded shortly at her.

"Fine, fine." John muttered, as though he wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying. If Harry hadn't been taken into surgery Sherlock was pretty sure that John would have wanted to go with his nephew and make sure the doctors did their job properly – it's strange how circumstances reshuffles your priorities.

There was a long silence in the room once Nurse Williams had gone, all Sherlock could see of John was his back as he stared out of the window. Occasionally John's hand raised up from his side to somewhere near his face – if Sherlock didn't know him better, he would probably have thought he was crying. Several times Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it pretty sharpish when he realised that every word that was coming into his mind would sound clichéd and insincere if he voiced them aloud.

"How didn't I notice anything?" John finally burst out with, as though he could no longer control the thoughts inside his own head; he began to pace up and down the far away side of the room with his fist clenched. "I should have seen – I should have thought of the complications of her bleeding earlier on!"

"There was no way of you being able to foresee this John." He replied and was correct in the thought that it did sound clichéd. "The doctors and midwife in here didn't even spot it, so how could you have?"

"I… I just should've!" John was still pacing furiously.

"Stop it John." Sherlock said firmly. "There was no way of you knowing anything, so stop putting blame onto yourself." John wrung his hands again in clear turmoil of the thoughts inside his mind.

"But… but I was with her the entire time! How could I not have noticed something was wrong?" Overwrought terror was pounding through John's chest, his mind flicking back to almost every instant and every moment that had unfolded this evening – how could he have not seen what was coming? He was a doctor – he was  _trained_  to spot this kind of thing!

"John, you  _did_ notice something was wrong… In the flat – you knew something was wrong and Harriet ignored you! You spotted the pre eclampsia, you knew before your doctor friend did – and you've done all in your path to make sure that everything is alright." Sherlock said to John sharply. "You couldn't anticipate her bleeding internally, there's a one in one hundred possibility and there was no way to know that Harriet would be that one…"

That was the truth… Sherlock knew it was – Harriet hadn't said anything about how she was feeling, so how on earth did John expect to know what was going on with her? Sherlock didn't like this kind of talk from John, mainly as it was  _so_ irrational… John wasn't a mind reader and if this had been any other patient he wouldn't be berating himself over one thing being missed; he would put it down to an unfortunate happening that could easily come out with a happy ending. But it also might not – and that unnerved him. What if the surgery went wrong? What if something happened? Sherlock was used to evaluating every eventuality just in case something might occur, but those thoughts he swept aside very quickly – it wouldn't do to think of the worst.

"Holy hell…" John muttered, stretching out his hand and leaning it on the window frame. "This isn't at all how I imagined today was going to go…" What was Sherlock supposed to say that? He felt increasingly awkward and uncomfortable in the room – he wished he could think of an excuse that would get him away, but that wasn't even a possibility… John would know he was lying. "I'm an uncle…" He ran his hands through his hair once more; he had done this so many times that his hair was standing on end, distinctly ruffled.

It felt like a lifetime – or at least an extraordinarily long stretch of time before John and Sherlock were informed of any news. And when it came, it was not appreciated… The corridor outside the room had been silent, not a footstep or a noise had broken in upon them since Nurse Williams had taken away the baby to be assessed. When the footsteps came, they brought the footsteps of doom along with them. Sherlock glanced at his watch when he heard the new noise, but instantly thought that it couldn't be anything to do with them – it had only been half an hour, there could be no news yet.

But it was news. The footsteps which they heard out in the corridor were being made by Kevin. For a long moment he stood in the doorway of the room, John still had his back to the door but the sense of presence was encompassing. Sherlock could see from the bearing of Kevin, and the demeanour on his face that said all of the thoughts he was carrying with him. The news he conveyed was the news that Sherlock was so accustomed to hear bandied about that it hardly even made him blink – but his insides had clenched with an apprehension. It was John's sister, and John himself who were involved here…

"John…" The weight and depth in Kevin's voice said more than he could ever articulate in words, but John still didn't turn round. "John, I'm so sorry."

"No, no…" John was trying to make his voice sound strong, but the quaver present in it was giving him away. "You go back in there and you bring her out!"

"John, we've tried – but she's been losing blood quicker than we can get it into her. We've been trying to revive her for over half an hour, but have been unsuccessful in our attempts." Sherlock was watching John's back and could see his ribcage expanding and contracting as he took rapid breaths to try and steady himself.

"There  _must_ be something else you can do?" John spoke, but the conviction was gone from his voice.

"I'm sorry John… she was losing more blood than we could ever hope to pump back into her. Even if we could revive her, her brain has been starved of oxygen for over half an hour…" Kevin trailed off. Sherlock stared at the doctor, of whom he was not acquainted, and wondered whether he broke bad news to other relatives in this manner, or whether John's medical knowledge was altering his technique. "We've called time of death; she's gone." There was silence; John finally turned round to face him, his eyes were dry, but the expression on his face showed that he had not accepted what Kevin was saying. He looked, for a second, like he might be about to attack Kevin, but he appeared to restrain himself.

"I want to see her." John broke the silence finally; Kevin nodded.

"They're just cleaning her up… you can see her shortly." He replied. John made no acknowledgement, but Kevin seemed to have taken his silence as compliance and he slowly backed out of the room. John stood stock still, Sherlock could see him almost visibly deflating; and for once, Sherlock had absolutely no idea what he could say to hiss friend, who had just lost the last part of his family…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you think/feel about this chapter/story so far! MASSIVE apologies for the slow update, deadlines are crushing my soul!


	9. Chapter Nine

John wrapped his knuckles along the window ledge in the ensuing silence which had followed ever since Kevin had left the room; he had turned his back on Sherlock again. Sherlock had been unsure on whether he should break the silence – whether John would want to be on his own, or whether his presence was of any use at all. He presumed that John would have asked him to leave if he didn't want him to be there, so for the time being he stayed put. This was such a mess… Well, it wasn't really a mess, there was nothing any of them could do to have prevented it, but still there was a tangle of confusion, upset and devastation left behind. Harriet had  _died…_ She had turned up to Baker Street five hours ago, full of exciting news and new hope for a family reunion between John, herself and her baby…There was no way that any of them could foresee that in only a few hours that promise would be so coldly ripped away from them.

Her baby… Sherlock had been thinking too much about John to consider the reality of that. John hadn't lost the last member of his family; he still had his nephew; and that child had lost its mother. What was to become of him? Harriet hadn't even gotten the chance to name him; she hadn't spoken about names at all… His bracelet would be "baby Watson" inscribed for the time being… Or until John chose a name for him. No doubt John wouldn't even be thinking about him, the news hadn't sunk in and taken hold yet. Sherlock retrieved his phone from the inside of his coat pocket and fired off a message that, for once, he had no problem sending:

 _'Might require your assistance. John's sister has died. –SH'_ Even as he sent the message Sherlock was pretty certain that Mycroft wouldn't be able to do anything practical, but he might be able to sort out any legal formalities to prevent John from having to do it…

"John?" Kevin was back at the door. "I can take you to see her now." John moved to follow him, then paused before exiting the room. They were led to a double door, which Kevin pushed slightly open.

"Take as long as you like." He said, gripping John's shoulder for an instant to show his sympathy and John nodded.

The door sung shut behind John and Sherlock, and they were left alone in the brightly lit room. Harriet was lying upon a hospital bed, a white sheet brought up to her chest covering most of her body. Her face was pale, but her features were placed in such a way that she looked as though she might be sleeping – the only thing that was missing was the rising and falling of her chest. John stood very silent and still for over a minute just staring at the body of his sister; then eventually he took several steps forwards and stopped at the side of the bed. He reached out and clasped his hand around one of Harriet's – he gripped it with fierce desperation and stroked the side of Harry's face with the other.

"She's… she's still warm." John said, his voice breaking. "Oh god…" He breathed. "Harry."

Sherlock stood at the door, making sure to be as unobtrusive as he possibly could be; this was John's moment; this was John's moment – last moment – with his sister. He didn't know for how long he stood, watching John cradling Harry's arm and stroking his hand across her forehead.

"This is wrong… just… just wrong!" John's voice was underpinned with emotion, but he wasn't crying.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock spoke eventually; there was nothing else that he could think to his friend. John carefully placed Harry's hand back down onto the bed on top of the white sheet, but remained in the same place, simply staring. Sherlock moved forwards to stand beside John, attempting to show a level of support for him. John's face was almost as pale as the white sheet that covered Harriet and he was staring down at her deeply; there was an extraordinarily long silence between the two of them which seemed to grow and expand in the space. Eventually John was the one who broke it suddenly in a sharp tone:

"I'm going to be sick…" He did not pause long enough for Sherlock to respond in any way; he had whipped round and retreated from the room that they were in. Sherlock followed behind him, not quite sure whether he should follow John or leave him to his own devices. John had fled from the room and along the corridor, through a set of double doors and into a gents toilet; Sherlock followed slowly and paused before pushing the door of the toilets open. One of the stalls was occupied and Sherlock could hear John coughing fiercely. The toilet flushed from inside the stall, but there was a moment before the door opened and a pale faced John tottered precariously out.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked tentatively, John ignored Sherlock as he ran his hands under the tap and then – using his hands as a cup – scooped water into his mouth to rinse it out.

"You're so smart, why don't you tell me what you think?" John answered, the reply sounded weak, resigned rather than sarcastic which was probably how it had been intended to be. John dried off his hands and then stood, resting his back against the wall of the toilets staring at Sherlock. Again this double confusion arose inside of Sherlock: what did John  _really_ want him to do? If it was him he would want to be alone, but he always wanted to be alone, so it wasn't much of a change, but John… John liked people, John didn't seek constant solitude like Sherlock did. Maybe John would want someone around. Itn wasn't the kind of question that Sherlock felt forthcoming in asking, especially right now – his social ineptitudes already extended further than most people thought possible, and now – he felt immensely awkward.

"I want to help." He finally blurted out. "I want to help, but I'm not quite sure how…" He heard his own voice trail away.

"There's nothing you can do." John snapped sharply, "There's nothing  _I_ can do… there's nothing anyone can fucking do!" John rubbed his palm across his forehead and Sherlock could see his fingers trembling. "I wish she hadn't come to me!" He vented, Sherlock stared back at John for a second.

"John, whether she came to you or not, exactly the same thing would have happened tonight, you know that – don't you?" John ran his free hand through his hair, but the look on his face showed that he didn't believe what Sherlock was saying. "You've been able to make sure Harriet had the best care – and the baby too. What would have happened if she went home and hadn't realised anything until it was too late?" Sherlock said. "Stop blaming yourself, because it is  _not_ your fault!" John had his head clutched in his hand; his mind was swimming with 'what ifs?' and 'if only's'. Every possibility or chance that might have presented themselves within the course of the evening piled on top of one another inside John's brain pressing down so much that it felt like a physical force inside his skull. It was too much! He had tried, he had medically judged as best as he could, he had advised, he had done his best. Yet he had missed, he had overlooked, he had failed… and Harriet was dead.

"Oh god… oh god!" John's voice shook as thought after thought seemed to strike him in recurring waves. "The baby!" He gasped air in, "What… what's going to happen to the baby?"

"That will be up to yourself, you're her next of kin." Sherlock spoke calmly, hoping to placate some of John's fright, but it didn't seem to help any – he ran his hand over his face in an even more pained manner. John looked dreadfully pale, Sherlock could see his hands trembling; and the ceilings and walls were spinning before John's eyes. Sherlock took several steps forwards and gripped John's forearm tightly, worried that he might pass out. "Come on." Sherlock murmured in such a soothing tone that John allowed himself to be steered out of the toilets and along the corridor by his friend. Before he knew it he was sat down in a chair in a small side bay by a full window. "I can't repeat enough that this is not your fault John…" He began soothingly. "You've done all you can, so stop reprimanding yourself for not doing enough." John sighed heavily, rubbing his fingers over his forehead once more. It was silent for a while, and Sherlock could hear John's erratic breathing – it was as though John couldn't quite decide whether to hyperventilate or stop breathing altogether. Sherlock's knees were beginning to stiffen up as he stayed crouching down in an effort to be of some comfort to John. Very suddenly John broke the silence, gasping and clapping his hand to his mouth:

"My god… the baby!" John's eyes widened until they were like two saucers in his face; it was as though the whole events of the night had just hit him in one fell swoop. Like the suddenness of Harriet's death had entirely obliterated the memory of what had come before it. "Holy fuck! What's going to happen to the baby?" His hands were trembling again, but he seemed to be more melancholy than the last time he had asked this question.

It's alright, it'll be up to you what will happen to him." Sherlock repeated.

"Me?!" John exclaimed in surprise. "Why me?"

"Well…" Sherlock hesitated, maybe this wasn't the best idea to discuss this right after the death of John's sister; but they would have to talk about it soon. "You'll be Harriet's next of kin… so the decision will be down to you."

"Oh god…" John buried his head in his hands again.

"But you don't have to think about all of that right now." Sherlock tried to be reassuring. "The hospital will be able to help for a bit; you'll just have to think about the long term stuff."

"Jesus! How am I supposed to…" he started and then stopped abruptly. "I can't make any… I mean, I don't  _know_ anything…"

"Calm down… you don't have to make any decisions right now." Sherlock repeated; John nodded slowly, but the frantic look in his eyes did not subside. "You have time, you've got plenty time, so right now you don't need to worry yourself about it."

Sherlock was not very accustomed to having to be comforting, and he wasn't sure that he was doing a very good job – but John seemed to be slightly less panicky than he had been five minutes ago. He looked worn out and tired, as though all of the problems in the world had come to rest upon his soul and burden down his shoulders. It was too much in too short a time for John's mind to fully take in. It was too great a loss for him to feel able to function and feel whole in heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story - I'd love to know what you think of it, please? :)


	10. Chapter Ten

Sherlock tapped his fingers upon the unoccupied reception in the mouth of the ward that had, so very little time ago, contained Harriet; how there could be no one about in a busy ward was beyond him. Eventually a male nurse appeared at the entrance to the desk.

"Can I help you, sir?" He asked politely.

"Yes. I want to know if there is any reason why John Watson needs to remain in the hospital." Sherlock responded curtly.

"One moment…" He ruffled through a pile of files within an in tray behind the front of the desk.

"His sister, Harriet Watson, delivered earlier on tonight, but there were complications and she died." Sherlock informed him, as the nurse opened a file. "I don't know if anything will be updated yet. I understand that there is a child, and we will need to return – but he needs to go home. His sister's death has hit him hard."

"Oh…" The nurse paused in his reading of the file. "If that's the case then, of course he can go home."

"Thank you." Sherlock answered.

"But," he started quickly before Sherlock had turned away. "We need to put something on the baby's bracelet as identification… Is there a name that we can write?" Sherlock hesitated – he hadn't even realised that Harriet hadn't had time to think of a name before she had been taken into surgery…

"Can you just put baby Watson for the time being? He hasn't had time of anything like that yet."

"Of course." He nodded, "Thank you."

Sherlock had stayed kneeling down in front of John for more time than he had realised – and eventually he had come to the decision that sitting in the hospital was of absolutely no help to John… he needed to go home and take in what had happened tonight, but whether he would agree to leave was a completely different matter. Sherlock thought he should clear it with a medical professional first, just in case they needed John for anything to do with Harriet's death, before just disappearing out of the hospital. Maybe John would refuse to leave, perhaps the baby would keep him within the confines of the hospital, but Sherlock judged this as not the best course of action. Sherlock returned to the room, John was still sitting, despondent in the chair by the window.

"John." He interrupted the silence in the room rather abruptly. "I think we should go home. I've spoken to one of the staff and he says we can go." John continued to stare blankly for quite some time, before rousing himself slightly.

"Yes…" He replied weakly. Despite the concordance to Sherlock's suggestion, he made no movement to follow through within it, and Sherlock watched him with an arresting care. John didn't appear to be able to move; or perhaps he didn't want to… Perhaps being in the very room that his sister had been in so shortly ago was preventing him from moving. Eventually he roused himself and got out of the chair he had been sitting in, but he still looked as though he was absolutely burdened down. Sherlock allowed John to walk in front of him and take the path down the sterile corridors to the front of the hospital which opened up into the cold night air.

The coolness and freshness of the air washed over John's face as he stepped out into the night; he stopped moving and closed his eyes briefly and took a long deep breath in.

"Do you have any cigarettes on you?" John asked quietly.

"I do… why?" Sherlock responded in slight surprise.

"Can I have one?" John held out his hand, palm up waiting for receipt of the cigarette that he now knew Sherlock had. Sherlock dipped his fingers into the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieved his packet of cigarettes along with his lighter. In any other circumstance, Sherlock would have argued as to John's request – but he thought now was not the time to bring up those arguments that John had used so many times to scold Sherlock's actions; he placed a cigarette into John's hand and John's fingers curled around it. Placing another cigarette in between his own lips, Sherlock lit up and passed his lighter to John – who struggled with the first few sparks and then succeeded in lighting up his. Sherlock watched the amber glow brighten in the darkness of the night as John inhaled deeply, then allowed a cloud of smoke to expel from his mouth.

"I'm sorry John- " Sherlock began to say while placed in this position, but John cut him off before the words were out of his mouth.

"Don't!" He spoke sharply yet firmly. "Don't say another word. I don't want to hear any more sorry's, or condolences, or any other shit like that right now."

"What do you want to hear?" Sherlock asked tentatively.

"Right now? Nothing. I just want to go home and have 15 whiskies and collapse in a pool of my own vomit, alright?" John's words were terse and so unlike what Sherlock was used to when speaking to his friend that he almost felt worried – but he couldn't stand in the way of what John wanted to do.

"Alright." Sherlock agreed.

"You're alright with that?" John asked incredulously, turning to look at Sherlock in the dark. The amber glow from John's lit cigarette illuminated a small spot in his eyes which was almost the only thing Sherlock could clearly see.

"If that's what you want to do, why should I have any right to object? Would you like some company?" this appeared to be the wrong thing to ask John; almost instantly he crumpled until he was almost bent double as if in pain. Sherlock reached out his hand but stopped just before touching his friend's back. It took John several seconds before he could regain his composure and straighten himself up once more, dragging in great gasps of breath as he did.

"It's an old tradition…" John said fragmentally. "Whenever we lost a man…" Sherlock took that John was referring to his army days with this and nodded, before realising that John couldn't see him in the dim light.

"If you wish for company, then I shall be more than obliged to join with you." Sherlock answered, throwing down the stub of his cigarette and stamping out the dwindling ashes with the tip of his shoe. John followed suit with his cigarette, but remained silent as the two of them moved towards a brightly lit taxi rank out towards the front of the hospital.

As they stepped out of the cab at the front door to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock's eyes alighted on a dark patch of dried blood that was present on the doorstep of their flat – he glanced at John in case he had noticed it, but John's eyes were too blurred and his mind too preoccupied to notice such things. Sherlock made a mental note to have it cleaned off as soon as he could to prevent any unwanted memories being brought forth by John's discovery. Mrs. Hudson's lights were off as John and Sherlock ascended the stairs; it was just as well, how she would have reacted to the news would probably be with sympathy and care, but Sherlock reckoned John wouldn't want to deal with such things yet.

The living room in 221B was still slightly disarranged, which had been caused by the presence of the paramedics and their obtrusive lack of awareness for furniture or personal items. John collapsed heavily into his armchair and put his hands to his face roughly.

"Scotch or malt?" Sherlock asked.

"Either." John replied gruffly. "They'll both do the same job." Sherlock poured out two glasses of the amber liquid, handed one to John and sat down in the armchair that he usually occupied.

The two men sat in silence for some time, neither having desire or thought to break it with speech. The first time any movement was made was when John stood up and retrieved the bottle of Scotch from the shelf, placing it in plain reach of both himself and Sherlock. Sherlock was watching John very closely; as much as he knew that it was John's desire to get absolutely hammered, he didn't want this situation to go pear shaped – he had to remain more sober than John, just in case. But that didn't look like it was going to be a difficult task.

"Half an hour passed between them, with no more noise than the chink of glass upon wood and the glugging of liquid pouring from the bottle into John's glass. John hadn't even seemed to have noticed that Sherlock had only drunk one and a half glasses, he was already on his fifth. The alcohol had numbed everything, it was almost as though the whole of the night hadn't happened.

Sherlock watched John gradually look more and more tired, as he washed down glass after glass until the bottle was nearly empty. Eventually John's head seemed to rest on his chest and his eyelids drooped shut; Sherlock remained silent for quite some time, wanting to make definite sure that John was asleep, before quietly getting to his feet and gently removing the glass, which still had the dregs of amber liquid covering the bottom, from John's grip. Sherlock stood very silently, looking down at his sleeping friend' incredibly carefully he carried the glass through to the kitchen, rinsed it out and refilled it with water. The whole flat was so still and quiet that Sherlock could hear John's steady breaths in and out as he perched himself on the sofa, knees curled up towards his chest. Ensconced as he had made himself upon the sofa, he remained the silent watch guard over John for the rest of the dark night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really love to know what you think about this chapter/ the story so far :)


	11. Chapter Eleven

Sherlock had been unaware of allowing himself to doze off into a gentle rest until he was awoken by a loud clattering noise. John's armchair was empty and the clock on the mantle piece heralded 6:27am; the noise must have come from John. Sherlock followed the direction of the noise and noticed the bathroom door was locked. He tapped gingerly on it and called through:

"John? Are you alright?" The response that Sherlock heard was John throwing up – Sherlock guessed that all that whisky was probably a mistake; he waited for a few moments before tapping on the door again. "Is there anything I can get you John?"

"No." Came the gruff reply through the door, Sherlock lingered uncertainly outside the door for a few minutes before returning to the living room.

It was about fifteen minutes before John returned to the living room, ashen faced and exhausted.

"I'm going to bed…" He mumbled, "Catch a few hours' sleep."

"Alright John – do you want me to bring anything up?" Sherlock asked, but John shook his head.

When he was sure that John would be in his room and settled enough not to be disturbed by noise then he got to his feet and began to pace around the room, pondering and analysing everything that had happened the night before and projecting what would need to be done about it. It always seemed that when life was progressing along smoothly enough that something monumental would occur and require absolute re-evaluation of absolutely everything. This was one of those moments… Suddenly the brick had changed to jelly underfoot and was more than just a little unsettling. Sherlock was making a mental list of what they would need to do: they would have to get the legal formalities of the baby sorted out – but that would be up to what John wanted to do; they would probably have to try and find Clara and that man, Paolo, to notify them of Harry's death at least; and probably to talk to them about custody of the baby too… Oh, and they'd have a funeral to arrange too… The number of things that needed to be done kept creeping up and up. If the baby was to come back with John then they would need to buy some essentials straight away for the new born. There was no way that Sherlock was going to be able to sort all of this out on his own – and he had no idea what John was going to be like… Grief and mourning was different for everyone and Sherlock had very little inkling of how John was going to react. He was going to need to call in the cavalry to help this time; it was just the issue of where to start…

Mycroft… Mycroft should be his first request for aid, despite some fairly ingrained sibling rivalries that kept the two of them apart; Sherlock knew that Mycroft would be the best person to help him in this situation. Mycroft's legal knowledge and government influence might just make it easier to find the two runaways, and he might be able to help with the legal documentation John would require to become the guardian of the child. It wasn't  _too_ early; he supposed he could text Mycroft and the message would probably be fielded by that stupidly silent secretary, Anthea.

_' Mycroft, require your assistance to find two missing people in Portugal, and to advise about legal documentation for John. The sooner the better. –SH.'_

Now he just had to wait and see if he got any response; it was around ten minutes before a reply came (which was quicker than Sherlock had expected at half six in the morning).

_'Shall be there promptly. –MH.'_

Sherlock knew that Mycroft's definition of "promptly" wasn't always as quick as most people would expect. Sherlock briefly considered changing his clothes, as he had worn these trousers and shirt for nearly thirty six hours now, but he changed his mind – he would have a shower and change later. After waiting for fifteen minutes he made his way into the kitchen and began to boil the kettle in order to make a pot of strong coffee; he guessed both himself and Mycroft would need it. Even if Mycroft had been up this early, he was coming to help Sherlock as quickly as he could and that had to count for something. Sherlock was just pouring the water into a caffitierre as he heard the front door opening and closing, followed by footsteps climbing up the stairs. Mycroft appeared in the kitchen doorway, umbrella in hand and in a fine tweed suit.

"Good morning." He greeted his brother cordially.

"Coffee?" Sherlock offered, he best try and at least be courteous – after all this was for John more than it was for him.

"Please, black." Mycroft intimated before moving through to the living room and seating himself in one of the armchairs. Sherlock carried the two mugs through, placing Mycroft's on a table in front of him. "So… this is about John's sister, yes?" Mycroft plunged straight into business – as though worried about normal interaction between himself and his brother.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, sitting across from Mycroft. "There are a few things that need to be done; John's just lost his sister, I thought it would be easier if I was able to sort out the legal matters for him."

"Hmmm…" Mycroft hummed.

"Harry's partner disappeared a couple of months ago with a Portuguese man, by the sounds of it they've gone to Portugal." Sherlock began, watching Mycroft taking a sip of his coffee. "We need to find her – both to notify her about Harriet's death and to find out about custody of the baby."

"And you want me to help?" Mycroft sneered slightly.

"I would appreciate your assistance, yes." Sherlock replied through gritted teeth. "For John's sake."

"Of course, for  _John's_ sake." Sherlock was having to restrain himself from uttering a biting comment, "Right, so you would like me to use my government influence to find out if these two people have left the country, and if they have, find out where so you can contact them?"

"Yes."

"What are their full names?" Mycroft had moved on so quickly that Sherlock was a little astonished for a second.

"Clara MacKenzie was Harry's partner, the first man's first name is Paolo, but I don't have a surname for him." Sherlock answered, Mycroft was punching these names into his phone – probably in a note so that Anthea would be able to help in this task. "And when approximately would they have left the country?" He continued.

"Around six months ago." Mycroft's eyebrows raised on his forehead as Sherlock replied.

"Well I can do what I can to locate them, but I'm not promising anything Sherlock."

I understand," Sherlock mumbled, "Thank you."

The first thing that John was aware of a dull pounding in his temples as he came into consciousness, he groaned aloud and struggled to move his hands up to his head through the cocoon of covers that was wrapped around him. He pushed back the duvet which was covering his face and squinted his eyes against the light that was streaming through his bedroom window; then it hit him – Harriet had died last night, and had left him with a nephew. He clamped his eyes shut once more and desperately hoped that it had been a bad dream, but the aching in his head and the unsettled feeling in his stomach pertained to the consummation of a lot of alcohol several hours previously. He hadn't been asleep very long, only a couple of hours, but he didn't feel much like trying to get back to sleep. He was still clothed in what he had been wearing the night before, distinctly ruffled owing to him sleeping in them, but that wasn't really his priority at the moment; he wanted some water to rinse the disgusting taste out of his mouth and then a cup of tea – or some really strong coffee.

As he descended the staircase, holding onto the side of the wall to try and bear through the dull ache that was present behind his eyes, he became aware that someone was talking in the living room. Perhaps Sherlock was talking to himself – he often did when his mind was preoccupied with something; but then came the noise of a second voice, less distinct than Sherlock's. It couldn't be a client…  _Surely_ Sherlock wouldn't take on a case right now? If he had…! John bristled in sudden anger, which dissipated on the spot as he turned into the doorway and saw that it was Mycroft occupying the armchair across from Sherlock. Neither of them looked in the best of moods as Sherlock flipped through pages of what looked like an immensely complicated document, he glanced up briefly and caught sight of John standing in the doorway.

"John!" He exclaimed, lowering the papers onto his lap. "I thought you would have slept for longer…" If only John could: it would be wonderful right now just to sleep for an extended period of time – three or four months maybe, and for everything to be sorted when he woke up…

"What's this?" John finally forced out, attempting inject some enthusiasm into his voice, but instead he just sounded angry.

"I thought Mycroft might be able to help us find where Clara is, and help with the legal guardianship of the baby." Sherlock answered calmly.

"Oh really? It's as easy as that is it?" John couldn't explain why he felt so angry, or why Sherlock's attempts to help irritated him so much.

"Well, I suspected that making it less complicated would be of some help…" He didn't sound so sure now. "I didn't mean to interfere." John was shaking all over, he had entirely forgotten about the headache that had been bothering him five minutes ago. Mycroft gave a small cough, then made small movements to stand up.

"I'd better be off; I've got business to attend to." He spoke briskly to his brother. "I'll leave all the papers with you; let me know if you require anything else." He paused for a second while passing John and said: "My condolences John." His voice was solemn, but John hardly heard him. Even before his footsteps had faded away on the staircase John had erupted in anger.

"What did you think you were doing?! How  _dare_ you have the audacity to start arranging and  _meddling_ in my personal business?!" Sherlock looked dumbfounded, he dropped the papers that he had been looking at onto the small table at the armchair's side.

"I'm – I'm sorry John…" Sherlock said quietly. "I just thought I might be able to help… I guessed you would have enough to think about and I could help with the extra stuff…"

John's anger seemed to have drained out of his feet once more and he was filled with an all-over numb feeling again. John put his hand up to his face and covered his eyes, feeling slightly ridiculous and guilty with himself for berating his friend, who was genuinely trying to be helpful. Sherlock had got to his feet and was standing a couple of paces away from John looking rather awkward. Hot tears were burning in the back of John's eyes for the first time since Harriet died and he had to fight to keep them back. Suddenly he was caught unawares as a set of arms encircled him and pulled him into a hug. John didn't know how to react to this gesture by his friend, but he didn't have much time to think about it as his emotions took over. He felt like there was a dry lump in John's throat which was impossible to swallow and his watering eyes squeezed tightly shut turned into full blown sobs; Sherlock cradled John's head comfortingly in the crook of his shoulder.

"Sssh…" Whispered Sherlock as he held John; John was not quite sure how long they remained in the same place, all that he knew was Sherlock's arms were firm around him, basically holding him upright. John was struggling to regulate his breathing and the tears in his eyes were stinging; eventually Sherlock relinquished his arms from around John and gripped John's forearm to lead him across the sofa. He sat him down and perched next to him. "It's alright John." He said calmly and patted John's arm reassuringly. John was hiccupping slightly as he tried to calm down his breathing; it was not until he had composed himself again that he realised how bizarre the event that had just taken place must have been.

"I – uh," John stammered, "Shall I make you a cup of tea?" Sherlock suggested, standing up from the sofa; there was a note of what sounded like embarrassment in his voice and moved off to the kitchen. John stared at the patch of rug about two foot in front of him, Sherlock had been trying to help and he had gotten angry, that anger had broken into upset and Sherlock had been there to comfort him. Sometimes it was these strange events which occurred every so often that proved to John that Sherlock really did have a heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'd love to know what you think about this chapter/story so far! :)


	12. Chapter Twelve

Sherlock placed the cup of tea into John's hands and sat back down next to him.

"I'm sorry if you felt like I was being insensitive." Sherlock apologised, "I just thought I could try and take care of some of the things to take the pressure off of you."

"I know." John mumbled slowly. "I didn't mean to snap at you and Mycroft like that."

"It's more than understandable." Sherlock responded; there was a silence between them as John took a few gulps of the tea, evidently forgetting that it would be very hot.

"What were the papers that Mycroft brought round?" John asked eventually, trying to break out of the uncomfort of the situation.

"Oh… well he brought round some papers for legal guardianship…" Sherlock answered, "And some... uh, some adoption papers." This hardly did anything to lighten the situation.

"Adoption papers?" John repeated. "But… but I haven't even decided anything, oh god… I don't even know what to do!" John ran one of his hands through his hair and looked pleadingly at Sherlock.

"Well… until we can find Clara and that man, we can't really do very much… you can fill out the legal guardianship stuff that would just give you rights over any hospital situations." Sherlock said. "The adoption stuff can come after that."

"How are we going to find Clara?"

"I've asked Mycroft to help. He should be able to trace them using airports and then local authorities." Sherlock answered.

"Oh god, I hadn't even thought about what was going to happen to the baby…" John flustered, "I guess… I guess if Clara doesn't want custody then I could always put him up for adoption with a family…" John postulated, Sherlock raised his eyebrows at this – but he was surprised that John would want to effectively give away the last part of his family.

"Are you serious?" Sherlock answered disbelivingly, "You would  _really_ put him into the care system?"

"Oh I don't know." John moaned, "I don't know anything! How am I supposed to know what is best?"

"You don't have to decide anything straight away John," Sherlock felt like he had said this too many times to John in the past twenty four hours. "We can't really do anything until we've found that guy, and if he doesn't appear then the authorities would take your decisions."

"So what's with the other forms?" John asked, slightly confused.

"The legal guardianship ones? Well, at the moment you're in a bit of a dodgy position when it comes to hospital treatment for the baby – as the next of kin it comes down to you for hospital stuff, but the doctors could overrule you if they felt necessary. If you've got guardianship awarded by the court then they have to listen to you, on pretty much anything."

"Right…" John muttered slowly, "Urgh, well… I better do that then… just in case, oh hell."

"Finish your tea first, you've got time yet." Sherlock advised him quietly and calmly. John took a few minutes in complete silence, hands clasped tightly around the mug, steadying himself, before speaking:

"Let me see those papers." He said extending his hand out so Sherlock could pass them over to him. Sherlock fumbled for the right set of papers before passing them to John rather nervously. John scanned the first page, just pausing briefly to examine certain words; he repeated this with the second and third page, until he reached a point which needed to be filled in. "Have you got a pen?" He asked Sherlock – who obligingly provided him with one. John transcribed the appropriate into the following:

' _I, Dr. John H. Watson, am requesting the position of legal guardianship of the child of Ms. Harriet S. Watson, following the incident of her death. My relationship to the above is brother, and status in terms of the child is uncle.'_

John scribbled his signature under his paragraph and handed the papers back to Sherlock.

"That's great – I'll get Mycroft to get this filed for you, then at least you have some status and power with what happens with the baby." Sherlock nodded, placing the papers onto a table at his side; John looked as though he might be about to dissolve once more, but through great strength of character he managed to compose himself again.

"I might go and have a shower." John suggested, standing up from the sofa.

"Alright." Sherlock agreed; he heard John leave and then the sound of feet ascending the staircase. Sherlock wasn't quite sure what he could do to help John properly – it was obvious that the whole thing was really sensitive to John… But to consider putting his nephew up for adoption? That wasn't the John that he knew well… Or maybe it was? Sherlock would have expected John to want to cling on as tightly as he could to his nephew, but then again, his nephew would be a lasting reminder of his sister and the state of their relationship before this tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

The taxi journey to the hospital later on that afternoon was not a particularly comfortable one- it was clear to see that John was still in a state of shocked resignation over what had happened. Sherlock wondered how long the news would take to really sink in – probably a couple of days at the least. John seemed unable to enter the hospital entrance and Sherlock lingered behind as his friend appeared to psyche himself up to go in.

Eventually he managed to summon the courage and walked into the main reception; he waited in line to speak to a woman behind the desk.

"He's in the paediatric unit, ward 56." John muttered quietly to Sherlock as the two of them walked along the corridor. Ward 56 turned out to be the neonatal intensive care unit; the double doors were secured with a keypad that was clear you needed the number for to get in. John stared in through the large pane of glass, eyes flickering from incubator to incubator, most of which were surrounded by parents in plastic coloured gowns. There only two bags out of seven that had no one but a nurse surrounding the baby – the one closest to the door looked as though the baby in the cot was a girl, so Harriet's baby must be in the incubator furthest away, obscured by the other bays.

"Can I help you at all?" The door of the ward had opened with a loud clicking noise, and a young man's head was poking around the edge.

"I-" John began speaking, but his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat before trying again. "I'm looking for baby Watson, son of Harriet Watson."

"Oh!" The young man's face softened, "Are you Harriet's brother?"

"Yeah, I am… I was." John answered slowly; the doctor nodded sympathetically.

"I'm Doctor Mitchell. We weren't sure how to contact you…" John's heart plummeted at these words – if something had happened to the baby he wouldn't know what to do. "Social services were here wanting to speak to you because you're Harriet's next of kin." John let out a breath that he hadn't been consciously holding; for an awful second he had thought that something else had gone terribly wrong. "They'll want to speak to you at some point." Doctor Mitchell continued, he paused for a second. "Would you like to see him?"

"Please." John's voice was weak.

"Alright, come this way." He said, leading them in through the secure door. "I have to ask you to put on these gowns, it's just to prevent any infections or outside bacteria getting into the unit." John nodded, accepting the gown and rubbing sanitary gel into his hands' Sherlock did the same as John. "I'll take you over then." He took them over to the empty bay at the end of the room; the tiny baby in the incubator looked so frail, but he was restlessly stirring, kicking his small legs repeatedly. "We were a little concerned about him when he was first brought up, he is very small – but he's proven to be remarkably robust!"

"Just like his mum." John whispered, so quietly that only Sherlock heard him speak. There was a tube up the baby's nose, but apart from that he was small but perfectly formed.

"You can put your hand through here," The doctor said, indicating a slot in the plastic. "So you can touch him." John extended his hand very slowly, shaking slightly and slid his hand into the gap until his fingers were in line with the baby's hand; carefully he stroked his skin and the baby stopped wiggling so restlessly. "He obviously knows it's you." Dr. Mitchell said kindly. "I'll leave you here; if you need anything just give one of us a shout." He left; John still appeared to be amazed by the existence of the small child and it's response to his touch.

"Oh god Sherlock…" John said quietly, "Look at him." Sherlock was doing so, but the small human that was lying in front of him didn't hold nearly as much wonder as he must do for John, he had to subdue himself from saying 'so what?'. "I don't know what to do…"

"About what?" Sherlock responded.

"About  _him!_ "

"You do what feels right, or what you feel Harry would be happy with." Sherlock answered honestly, John was chewing his lip.

"How… How could I give him away? He's the last bit of Harry." John seemed to be reprimanding himself. "But – but… I'm not a parent! I'm not parent material; I wouldn't know how to do anything!" John wasn't shouting, but the anxiety was ringing through his voice.

"Do you think Harriet was parent material?" Sherlock asked quickly, "Do you think she had all the answers?" John looked down.

"She didn't… She wanted me to help." John murmured.

"Being a parent doesn't give you all the answers, it just makes you want the best for your child. Harry would have wanted the best for her son – and she knew you would too." Sherlock said wisely.

"I suppose…" John nodded, his finger still stroking the baby's arm. "I just… he's so fragile, he needs so much protection. I don't know if I can give him that." Sherlock reached out and placed a hand firmly on John's shoulder, squeezing slightly.

"The only thing you need to do, whatever your choice, is try to do your best, and that would be good enough for anyone." Sherlock answered calmly, John nodded.

"John Watson?" A young woman in a neat suit had appeared at the end of the bay accompanied by Dr. Mitchell. Sherlock looked up, seated in a chair next to the cot and John had to tear away his gaze, which had been fixed on the baby for almost an hour now.

"Yes?" He answered, looking in between Dr. Mitchell and the woman.

"I'm Miss. Cunningham, I'm from social services – could I possibly have a quick chat with you?" She was smiling, but her voice was very solemn.

"Right now?" John asked, looking back down at his nephew.

"If that's possible. There's just a few little things that need sorted out." She answered, John was silent for a moment and then slowly removed his hand from inside the incubator.

"Can I bring my friend too?" Miss. Cunningham's eyes flickered to Sherlock and back to John.

"Of course." She nodded, but the tone of her voice and the smirk on her face clearly said that she was wondering about the propensity of the word "friend". John moved to follow her and Sherlock followed. She led them out of the secure ward and along the corridor, into a family room which was lined with chairs. She paused, seemingly in waiting for John and Sherlock to sit down, but neither of them obliged.

"John Watson… sister of Harriet Watson?" Miss. Cunningham asked, sitting herself down promptly and rifling through her bag to find a folder of papers; this must be her every day but John stared at her in amazement, everything about her was so cold… so clinical.

"Uh, y-yes." John stammered uncertainly.

"I just want to go over some legalities with you." She pulled a file of papers onto her lap and opened the documents. "You are Harriet's next of kin, therefore at this current moment any power over the child is held by you." John nodded. "We will have to try and find the child's father…" She began, but Sherlock cut her off.

"We're currently filing for legal guardianship, and searching for Harry's ex-partner and the father of the child." He told her very curtly. "Is there any actual legalities that you need to go over right now, or can you wait until we've filed our documentation?"

"Well, I – " She seemed taken aback by Sherlock's abruptness and his knowledge of the following procedures that needed to be completed.

"Just – it's been a very trying time for John." Sherlock oozed, using just the right tone to play on her sympathetic resonances and he laid a hand on John's shoulder again. "Could you perhaps give us a number and we could call you if we can't get the legal documents sorted?" Miss. Cunningham was looking startled, eyes flickering from Sherlock to John and back to Sherlock again.

"Yes… I suppose, I can give you my business card. You seem to have everything in hand at the moment, but you will be aware that at the current moment you cannot take the baby out of the hospital?" She requested, finding a small card holder from inside her leather bag and producing one to hand to Sherlock.

"Even if the baby was well enough to leave the hospital, we wouldn't do anything before consulting with you first." Sherlock assured her.

"Right, well… You've got my number if you need it." She had shoved the paper file back into her bag and stood up, straightening her pencil skirt.

"Yes, thank you very much." Sherlock sounded convincing even, John just kept his mouth clamped shut; Miss. Cunningham closed the door behind her and there was a split pause where the two of them were silent before Sherlock removed his hand from John's shoulder and muttered: "Good riddance." John stared at him. "What?" Sherlock asked when he noticed the stare that John was giving him.

"Just… how you handled her." John answered.

"Well," Sherlock waved his hand disapprovingly, "We don't need social services buzzing about – I can get Mycroft to help with anything that we need doing." John sat down in one of the chairs and stayed silent for a period of time; Sherlock was gazing out of the window, respecting John's silence.

"I…" John started suddenly then faded away very abruptly, he took an audible breath. "I don't think I can give him away…" He managed the sentence this time.

"I didn't really expect you to." Sherlock answered, turning back from the window. "If you had then you wouldn't be the John Watson that I know."

"But… it's so complicated…" John sighed. "There are so many things I'll have to sort out and think about… he doesn't even have a name yet!"

"You'll be able to think of everything, and there are people who can help."

"Yes…" John agreed slowly.

"Shall we go back and see him?" Sherlock suggested.

"Yes." John answered, more decisively this time and stood up from his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again - I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter/story so far! :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Five days had passed before Sherlock heard any news from Mycroft. In the days intervening John and Sherlock had spent most of their time at the hospital with the baby. Dr. Mitchell commented happily that the baby was making steady progress, and if they were still satisfied in a couple of days' time then John would be allowed to take his nephew home – but the absence of Clara and the elusive man had become notably more present. John had been rummaging through the almost bare kitchen cupboards, attempting to find anything that he could eat before having to head off to the hospital when the sound of the front door of the flat opening and shutting came floating up the stairs, followed by brisk footsteps. Sherlock had been lounging silently in the living room, listening to John muttering to himself about the lack of food that wasn't in a tin; his brother was standing, neatly suited, in the doorway, staring at his younger brother with a look of some disapproval.

"Good morning." Mycroft greeted him in a clipped tone.

"Morning?" Sherlock answered. "News to grace us with then?" There was a clatter from the kitchen and John came rushing through the archway to see whom it was that Sherlock was addressing. When he saw it was Mycroft he gripped the back of the armchair in front of him and bit his lip in anticipation. Mycroft had paused while John had joined the two of them in the room, before nodding curtly.

"What then?" John burst out impatiently, not able to cope with the suspense that Mycroft demanded as he drew out the time before his answer.

"I found Clara, and managed to send her a message." Mycroft replied, "I haven't been able to locate the guy yet – but Clara might be able to shed some light on him…"

"Where was she?" John asked weakly.

"In Portugal, where you thought she would be. I was able to trace her leaving the country, then I got border control to chase her down and get a message to her." Mycroft said. "I referred her to here, so she should come here when she gets back."

"If she comes back." Sherlock muttered.

"She'll come back." John stated firmly. "She may not have been on the best terms with Harry when she left, but they'd been together for years, she wouldn't just abandon her entirely." Sherlock had his eyebrows raised, he wasn't entirely sure – but John was less of a sceptic, and he knew Clara better.

"Well, glad to be of assistance on some level." Mycroft gave a rather mock bow and turned to leave, but John called out to stop him.

"Mycroft, thank you for your help. It's much appreciated." He nodded and left.

"Well at least he's been able to find her, that's some way to something…" John sighed, he was staring at Sherlock who was gazing into a vacuum of space before him. Very abruptly, John changed the direction of the conversation: "I'm starving, and we've got no food in the house. Come on, let's go and get something before visiting hours start."

Sherlock didn't know whether he should be worried about John; it had seemed at first as though he had been emotionally battered at the loss of his sister, however he had rallied surprisingly quickly and was managing to just get on with things. Sherlock couldn't help suspect that this was a façade that John had built up, and that at some point it would come crumbling down. But for now he had the baby to focus on.

"He's doing well." John said, as the two of them sat in opposite chairs at a small café down the road from the hospital. "Dr. Mitchell was saying that they've put him on high protein, high caffeine feeds to help him gain some weight and grow a bit, and he's gained a couple of ounces." John paused as he put a fork full of food into his mouth; Sherlock tightened his grip on his cup of coffee and thought about the question that he had been wondering about for a few days.

"Have you thought about a name for him yet?" He asked, John's chewing slowed down as he thought about the question.

"I have been thinking about it…" He answered eventually, "But I wondered about whether I should wait until Clara was across so I could see what she thought."

"Harry said something about wanting to name him using the 'Watson tradition'?" Sherlock commented, trying to sound casual and as though he wasn't prying. John let out a small laugh:

"Yeah, the Watson tradition is just something that runs in our family, as a way of choosing the name of a baby." John answered, "We run alphabetically – so Harriet is H, and I'm J."

"Right…" Sherlock nodded in understanding.

"And I've got my cousins Kaitlyn and Leanne who are K and L." John continued.

"So she should begin with M?" Sherlock asked, John sighed at this.

"Well… technically yes… But when I was born I was meant to be I, but my dad couldn't think of a name, so he skipped to J… So I wondered whether the baby should be the missing I…" John said slowly.

"Have you thought of any names that you begin with I?"

"There's a couple… But I don't really like any of them…" John answered, "There's Iain, or Immanuel, or Ianto… I can understand why my dad skipped I not… it's almost impossible."

"You'll think of something." Sherlock said reassuringly. "And if you don't then you can always skip onto M yourself."

"I guess, yeah…" John nodded, picking up his fork from the side of his plate again. "Come on." He glanced at his watch, "Visiting time starts soon, finish your coffee."

Dr. Mitchell and Dr. Harper were the two doctors that were in charge of the paediatric ICU on a rotational basis, and both of them knew Sherlock and John now. Every day the two men had been there waiting for visiting hours to let them in, and they were always the two latest left in the hospital. Paediatric ICE was a little bit different from all the other wards, their visiting times were longer than the others, and special allowances were given to the parents of those infants that were very ill. Since they had started visiting there had always been one couple at the bay of their child constantly – the little girl was as small as John's nephew, however her health had seemed on a very delicate edge point. When John and Sherlock arrived, those parents were no longer there – the bay was empty. John had spoken to the couple several times and he looked around to see if they had been moved to another bay, then asked:

"Where are Carry and Andrew?" Dr. Mitchell glanced and lowered his voice.

"Their daughter passed away in the early hours of this morning." He replied.

"oh god, no!" John took a short breath in. "Oh no – that's awful!"

"They were very aware of how serious her condition was, it is a real shame." Dr. Mitchell agreed, nodding solemnly; they had arrived at the side of John's nephew and John was gazing down at him in some apprehension. "I have good news for you though – Watson is doing incredibly well especially for how premature he was."

"Oh good!" John's face broke out into a smile of relief.

"We're discussing later today whether we should move him out of the ICU and into the paediatric unit; he's doing really well – he's a little fighter!" Dr. Mitchell continued, John laughed weakly.

"Just like his mum." John commented, Dr. Mitchell excused himself and went over to speak with another parent who had just arrived. Sherlock sat down in the chair that was beside the incubator and noticed that John's eyes had filled with tears. He had slipped his hand through the gap in the plastic and whispered: "She'll be proud of you, and you'll know all about her. I won't let you forget."

"Do you want to hold him?" It was nearing the end of visiting hours and Sherlock and John hadn't moved at all in the two hours that had elapsed. John's head snapped up as Dr. Mitchell's voice broke in on him.

"What?" John asked as though he had misheard him.

"We need to change the sheet underneath him, so I wondered whether you'd like to hold him while we do that." Dr. Mitchell offered, glancing in between the baby and John.

"Y-yeah! If that's alright." John agreed in an enthusiastic tone.

"Of course." Dr. Mitchell waved a hand to one of the nurses, who rushed across with a set of fresh sheets and began to unfix the top of the incubator so they could lift the baby out and change the sheet with ease. The nurse scooped John's nephew out of the cot, and immediately he began to wriggle and wail at the disturbance of being moved; she turned to John and, very carefully, passed the baby across to John. He was still writhing in a struggled attempt to stop being moved, but he was no longer crying. John rocked his nephew soothingly and the baby settled, appearing to be relaxed by the close contact of another human being. The nurse was changing the sheet without John or Sherlock even noticing. The look on John's face was so caring – so full of love and protection that Sherlock was transfixed by the sight of him for a moment.  _That_ was what real love looked like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I would love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

 

John was very quiet on the journey home – he hadn't wanted to put his nephew down again since being allowed to hold him, despite Dr. Mitchell's assurance that he would be allowed to take the baby out of the cot the next time he visited too. Mrs. Hudson met them at the door to 221B; evidently she had been waiting for them.

"You've got a visitor." She informed them, "A girl. She was rather hysterical when she arrived, so I took her upstairs and made her a cup of camomile tea."

Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock replied, unhooking his scarf from around his neck and hanging it and his jacket up on the hook at the bottom of the stairs. John proceeded to bolt up the stairs at full pelt, even though Sherlock knew who their visitor was and he was fully aware that John would know it too. Clara was sitting on one of the armchairs, the mug of camomile tea in front of her; her blonde hair was dishevelled and her eyes were tired and bloodshot – unlike Harriet, Clara had obviously not given up drinking, she looked like she had been surviving on vodka and crisps. As Sherlock followed into the living room behind John, he saw Clara jump to her feet:

"John! What's going on?! I got an urgent message saying I had to come home and come here the second I arrived and –" She gabbled, seemingly oblivious to anything that had happened. Mycroft had clearly neglected to mention exactly why she needed to come home.

"Sit down." John said to her calmly, although Sherlock could see from John's breathing that he felt anything but calm at this moment. Clara stopped gabbling and perched nervously back down on the edge of the armchair seat, it was obvious that she had no idea what was coming. John, also, seemed unsure of what to say to her stood seemingly transfixed to the spot, thinking. "Harry came to visit us a week ago and… well, she told us all about Paolo and you disappearing off, but I don't think you knew that she was pregnant."

"Pregnant? What – how…?" Clara exclaimed in response, and then fell silent, her eyes dawning with comprehension. "Oh… from the… oh…"

"Yes, uh – she went into early labour and there were…. Complications." John spoke; Sherlock could hear his voice trembling, about to break. "And she… she – she died." The same kind of stunned silence filled the room as had done when John had found out; the heard Clara gasp.

"She…? No!" Clara's hands had sprung up to her face. "No. She couldn't have! She's… she's really dear?" John was looking at the floor rather than at Clara, but he nodded resignedly. Clara wailed loudly and gripped her fingers in her hair, as though trying to rip it out; she had lowered her head so much that if she moved any lower then her head would be on her knees. "But – but… why didn't she contact me? Why didn't she let me know she was pregnant? I would have –"

"Come back?" Sherlock cut over her coldly. "She couldn't contact you, she didn't know where you had gone and she was under the impression that you didn't love her… what would you having coming back achieved?"

"I…I would have been there for her…" Clara whispered miserably. Sherlock made a derisive noise, but John shot him a warning look and he fell silent, scowling.

"If it's any consolation… she still loved you very much."

John said very quietly; tears had begun to stream down Clara's face, streaking her cheeks with eye make up. John sank into his armchair, unable to respond to Clara's tears.

"Oh god…" Clara repeated over and over, her hands were not gripping onto her knees. "I can't believe… oh god no." She was rocking back and forth, seemingly unaware of the presence of Sherlock and John, entirely consumed by her grief. After roughly ten minutes Clara seemed to recompose herself slightly, she sniffed loudly and wiped her face with the sleeves of her t-shirt. "She was pregnant?" She seemed to have only recalled this piece of information. "What happened?"

"She had a son." John answered in a monotonous tone.

"And – is he… is he alright?" She asked.

"He was very premature, but he's been doing well." John said.

"Will I be able to see him?"

"We can take you tomorrow." John replied, Clara went quiet again. Sherlock was still standing, his gaze moving back and forth between Clara and John; John had managed to remain composed throughout this conversation, but Sherlock could tell that it was taking every ounce of his strength to do so.

"You can stay here if you want to, but it'll have to be on the sofa." Sherlock offered, Clara nodded in silent thanks. "I'm going to head to bed, it's been a long day - and if we're going to take you to the hospital in the morning then we'll need to be up early." He stated, matter-of-factly. "John, are you going to do the same?"

"Yes." John agreed slowly, pushing himself out of his armchair.

"Thank you." Clara said lowly, but John didn't respond.

Sherlock and John ascended the stairs in single file, both quiet from the conversation that had just happened. At the top of the staircase both of them paused, John staring at the floor and Sherlock inspecting John.

"I'm sorry John." Sherlock muttered quietly, reaching out his hand and resting it on John's shoulder. For a moment John just stood, comforted by his friends acquiescence, before muttering: "Thanks." And turning into his own room.

Sherlock wasn't yet tired, he sat in the chair in his bedroom, which was situated directly above the living room; he could hear sobbing coming from below. Clara was obviously incredibly upset by the news that had been delivered to her; and in the stillness of the night – Sherlock was sure he could hear another person sobbing also.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter/story so far!


	16. Chapter Sixteen

 

John barely slept. He felt like he was lying awake, watching the second hand on the clock ticking ever so slowly by, but never getting anywhere at all. He had thought that Clara's arrival would relieve him a bit, that maybe it would take some of the weight off of him – but now that she was actually present, the weight seemed to have trebled and was pressing down soul-crushingly hard on him. He wasn't sure what he had expected, how Clara could have helped in this situation; but her presence did only one thing only for John – and that was compound more harshly than anything had previously, that Harry was dead and she wasn't coming back.

Dawn broke slowly, the birds began rousing from their period of inactivity and sang so loudly that John was astounded that he should ever be able to sleep through them. The noise of traffic became louder and louder with every minute as early morning commuters began to stream into the centre of London. The conversation he had had with Clara kept replaying in his mind; her utter shocked disbelief about what had happened and her insistence that if she had known, she would have come back. John felt a ripple of anger, mainly on Harry's part, at the way Clara had left; Clara had deserted her after years! Of course John understood that love was a complicated matter and that people could fall in and out of love at any time, but by the way in which Clara had reacted she  _hadn't_ fallen out of love with Harry – she had just gotten bored of the routine of their relationship. It was no way to treat someone you loved! You didn't jerk around with other people's feelings to satisfy your own whims and desires! Then a thought passed through John's mind, so quickly that it took him a couple of seconds to link it up with what he had been thinking about: the way that Sherlock acted to the people that he cared about was exactly the way that John thought of as unacceptable… Sherlock took risks, he strove towards what would satisfy his own desires and he continually picked people up and dropped them when they were no longer required. So despite thinking that Harry should have recognised this and wised up to the way Clara was treating her, he could not really blame Clara – for he too accepted similar treatment from his own friend.

Unable to settle John finally rose at half six, dressing and then pacing around the room, thinking of the day ahead and the conversations that he was still yet to have with Clara: the whereabouts of the man Paolo; the questions around custody of the baby; and the choice of a name… All that would still have to be discussed and decided.

By half past seven John felt as though his head was about to explode with all of the thoughts that were teeming inside of it, they were all so blurred together now that he could hardly distinguish the end of one thought from the beginning of another. It was an acceptable time to rise now – he assured himself, as he left his bedroom and began to make his way down the stairs; if they were going to go to the morning visiting hours then they would have to be having breakfast and getting ready to leave shortly. There were sounds of movement from Sherlock's bedroom, but John didn't knock on Sherlock's door – he would appear in his own time. Clara was asleep, curled up on the sofa, her eyes were puffy and red even despite them being closed, she must have been crying. John hadn't heard her, but then again by the time he got to his room last night he was so consumed by his own thoughts that he wouldn't have heard if a bomb had gone off the floor below. She didn't stir as John entered the living room; John didn't awaken her yet, instead he entered the kitchen and turned the kettle on. As the kettle boiled, John heard feet from up above – Sherlock must have awoken. He waited for Sherlock to join him, preparing a cup of coffee for him, and when Sherlock appeared – looking as fresh as ever – he accepted the cup from John.

"Do you want me to wake her?" Sherlock asked, staring in the direction of Clara who was still curled up on the sofa; John took a sip of his tea and sighed:

"I suppose…"

"Have you got a cup of tea for her?" John poured water into another cup and handed it to Sherlock, who strode over and banged into one of the little tables loudly. Clara woke abruptly, assumedly from the loud noise so close to her and peered around in confusion.

"Cup of tea for you." Sherlock said flatly, laying the tea down in front of her; she rubbed her face and sat up.

"Thanks." She mumbled. Sherlock returned to the kitchen and stood next to John; from the manner of his actions, John could tell that Sherlock didn't think much of Clara. He didn't want to air this view right now, not when Clara would probably hear him.

"Are we going in for the early visiting hours?" Sherlock finally questioned, John nodded then paused shortly.

"You don't need to come with me, not if you don't want to…" John replied very quickly.

"I don't mind it…" Sherlock said, bristling a little as though thinking that John was telling him off.

"I just… I don't want you to go out of your way – if there's something better you could be doing." John muttered.

"There isn't." Sherlock answered very seriously.

"Oh… okay." John hadn't yet expressed his thanks at how Sherlock's continuing support was much appreciated from, yet before he could broach this subject Clara broke in on their conversation.

"Um… you don't have a towel I could borrow, do you?" She asked tentatively. "I just wanted to clean myself up a bit before we go."

"Yes, of course." John put his cup of tea down and retrieved a towel from a small cupboard near the boiler. "There's a bathroom just there." He indicated, and she nodded.

Twenty-five minutes later the three passengers were seated in a taxi on their way to the hospital. John was more restless than he usually was, and he kept raising and lowering his knuckles to in front of his mouth, as though he was trying to smell something present upon his hand; Clara was also consistently twitchy, tapping her fingers on the edge of her knees and chewing her fingernails of her other hand, they were both nervous.

When they arrived John led the way into the hospital and up to the paediatric ICU, pausing outside the doors at the window and staring inside. The bay that usually held his nephew was empty, for a few seconds Sherlock could see terror rising in John's eyes, before he knocked on the doors rather briskly. Dr. Harper appeared at the doors, recognising John and opened them.

"Hello Dr. Watson!" He greeted them cheerily, and before John could utter any question, any notion of the panic that he was feeling Dr. Harper answered the question. "We've moved your nephew to the neonatal ward as he's doing so well – would you like me to take you along there?"

"Please." John agreed, a touch of relief present in his voice; and the three of them followed Dr. Harper along one of the one of the corridors towards the other paediatric wards. There was a small bay with only four young children inside, Dr. Harper lead them right up to the cot containing John's nephew – he was no longer in an incubator, but resting in among a thick white blanket.

"He's improved a lot in the past few days, and he's gained three more ounces – it just goes to prove that we must be doing something right!" Dr. Harper notified John. "He'll be able to go home with you in no time!"

"Thanks." John replied.

Once Dr. Harper had departed, John moved closer to the side of the infant, stroking the side of his finger along the baby's cheek; but Clara stood well back – staring as though she had never seen a baby before. After quite a prolonged silence, she took a tentative step forwards.

"This – this is Harry's son?" She asked in a low whisper, John nodded. She seemed to dither on the spot, not sure whether to move forwards and have a closer look at the boy, or whether to keep her distance.

"Come and see." John said encouragingly, and Clara moved to his side, looking down. The bundle of blankets was hardly moving at all, aside from the gentle movements of his chest rising and falling as he breathed in and out, he was in a fitful doze and didn't seem to be ready to wake up yet.

"He's  _tiny!_ " Clara commented, resting her finger next to the baby's curled fist.

"He was really premature, but he is beginning to grow now – he's put on several ounces, which is a good sign." John acknowledged; without Clara noticing it John had been taking small steps backwards, leaving her beside the baby's cot on her own. When he was far enough backwards for her not to notice, he moved to stand beside Sherlock and surveyed the scene. "Clara, Sherlock and I are going to go and get a coffee, we'll be back in five minutes, alright?" She turned to look at John and nodded mutely. John chivvied Sherlock out of the ward, taking a mental note that it was ward 61, and they walked along the corridors in the direction of the main reception where he knew there was a little coffee and sandwich shop.

"Why did you want to leave her on her own?" Sherlock asked inquisitively; he was still not altogether sure that they could trust Clara, and leaving her alone with the baby seemed like a bit of a risky chance.

"If Harry and her had still been together then that would have been her son." John replied plainly. "I think she's entitled to some time alone with him. Besides, I've got to ask her later on about custody, and whether she knows where that Paolo guy is, so I'd rather keep her on my side just in case…" John filtered away.

"Just in case what?" Sherlock asked, although he was sure he knew the answer.

"In case she, or Paolo, want custody." John answered. "Whatever happens, I still want to be able to see him – and if that means keeping her happy now, then I have to do that."

"You really think that she'll want custody of him?" Sherlock sounded highly incredulous now.

"No…" John bit his lip. "I don't… but I don't want to rule it out just because it's not likely now. " John sat at a table while Sherlock ordered two coffees, which turned out to be a horrible grey colour, and brought them back across to the table.

"You really want him, don't you?" Sherlock asked, John's eyes jerked up from staring at the colour of the "coffee" and, with his eyebrows raised, viewed Sherlock's face.

"What do you mean?" John lowered his coffee cup slowly back onto the table top.

"I mean, you really want guardianship, don't you?" Sherlock expanded only slightly.

"Well… yeah." John nodded. "Of course I do, he's my nephew."

"But you weren't so sure a couple of days ago… what's changed your mind?" Sherlock was trying not to be too over conspicuous in asking, but he knew that he wasn't doing too good a job.

"It's just… he's family. I'd rather he stayed with family – even if I'm not meant to be a parent, I can give it my best shot… And it'd be better than him growing up in a care home, wondering why no one wanted him." John replied, "And, I guess – watching him over the past couple of days; he's such a little fighter and he's shown the Watson spirit already, how could I hand him over to someone who would grind that out of him?" Sherlock nodded; he had expected John would want to look after his nephew once Harry had died, but the passion that he felt for the baby had grown increasingly as they continued to look after him. "I know that man, Paolo, is his father, but I can't  _stand_ the thought of him swanning in and taking him away… So if I need to fight to keep him, then I'm prepared to."

"I don't think you'd need to fight." Sherlock replied calmly, his cup of coffee raised an inch or so above the table top.

"How not?" John asked.

"It just doesn't seem like he's the type of person who would appear and suddenly demand to take him away."

"You never know what he'd be like if it is about his child." John commented darkly. "He could turn up and demand access."

"I doubt it." Sherlock muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. "Urgh – and they wonder why people complain about hospital food! This is disgusting"! Sherlock hadn't bothered to keep his voice down and a passing waitress scowled at him. "Shall we go back?"

"Let's wait a few more minutes, I want Clara to feel like she's had enough time." John insisted; Sherlock looked as though he wanted to protest but he kept his mouth tightly closed.

Clara was sitting with her head down when John and Sherlock had decided that it was time to make their presence once more. She had her eyes closed, and didn't notice them entering until they were right beside her.

"I… I didn't hear you coming back." She croaked, once she had opened her eyes.

"I don't… I don't know how you can do this." Clara choked, her voice sounding very thick with emotion. "How you can cope…" She broke off, her hand covering her face.

"For him," He replied very simply, gazing down at his nephew. "He's not got anyone else."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far! :)


	17. Chapter Seventeen

"What do you want to know?" Clara asked abruptly as herself, Sherlock and John sat down in the flat, after they had made their journey back from the hospital. John started at her, unsure of what she meant by this question. "I know you've got questions you want to ask and I want to ask and I want to help. I wasn't there for Harry at the end, so I want to try and make it up to her."

"There's quite a few legal issues that need to be sorted out." Sherlock answered for John, correctly interpreting the floundering look upon John's face. "Custody and guardianship, that sort of thing."

"Can I help with that?" Clara had been entirely silent, eyes closed, the whole way home; it seemed as though she had been steeling herself for this.

"The father, Paolo, or whatever…" John croaked, "He's got the legal powers of custody, so we need to find him so that when I apply we've not got any objections."

"Are you applying for custody?"

"Well, yeah… I want to adopt him if I can." John nodded, Clara was biting her lip.

"Paolo disappeared on me too… if you give me a day or two, I can try my best to get in contact with him." She told them. "I can't promise anything, but I can try."

"Someone trying has to be better than me not knowing where to start looking."

"I thought you would get automatic custody, you were her brother after all?" Clara questioned.

"Paolo is the baby's father though, if I want to adopt then I need his permission; otherwise he could turn up at any time and have the authority to take him away." John informed her.

"Oh right…" She nodded, comprehension dawning on her. "I'll try for you."

"Thank you." John thanked her.

"IS there anything else I can do?" She sounded nervous, as though she couldn't quite decide whether she wanted to offer any more help.

"I haven't thought of a name for him yet…" John muttered slowly. "I was kind of waiting for you to arrive before I made any kind of decision about it." Clara was staring agog at John.

"Why on earth would you wait for me?" She exclaimed in obvious surprise.

"You were with Harry for a long time Clara, I haven't forgotten that, and I won't. I know how important you were to her and how much she valued what you thought." This answer seemed to make Clara feel worse, as her eyes began to well up with tears once more. There was a long period of silence as she looked down at her feet and chewed her nails.

"Have you thought of any?" She asked finally, her voice clearly evident of her upset.

"Harry did mention that she wanted to use the 'Watson tradition' to name him." John replied suddenly, seizing upon the moment of speech to break out of the silence.

"What's that?" Clara muttered, still not meeting the eyes of John,

"We name the child in alphabetical order in relation to the rest of the family." John explained.

"Oh…" Clara's eyes widened. "You could call him Harry…" This suggestion had already occurred to John, however he had the answer to this pre-planned.

"I thought about that, but I don't want him to grow up thinking he has replaced her… I don't want him to ever forget her, but I really don't want him to think he's being compared." John said placidly, he had thought about this seriously and definitely hadn't wanted to give that burden to a child so young, especially one who was going to grow up without ever knowing his mother.

"Hmmm… Yeah, I get that." Clara agreed. "What letter are your family on?"

"Technically we're on M…" John answered, "But my dad missed I because he couldn't think of a name beginning with it, so I kinda wondered whether his name should begin with I." Again silence filled the space between them, John noticed how raptly Sherlock was listening in to this to this conversation; he was ensconced in his armchair, but his eyes were incredibly alert.

"I…?" Clara pondered aloud.

"It's a tricky one, I know." He agreed, nodding.

"Ian?" Clara suggested after a long period of quiet.

"Hmmm…" John hummed. "I don't know."

"Can I think about it for a while?" Clara said, rubbing her hand across her face and John nodded

"Shall we have lunch then?" Sherlock proffered suddenly, standing up from his armchair and proceeding through to the kitchen area.

Lunch was a fairly silent affair, both Clara and John were mulling over the thought of a name for the baby. Every so often one of them would give a suggestion, but neither of them seemed to settle on any of them: there was Ivan, Isaac, Igor, Irvine and Izzy. None of them seemed satisfactory to both of them…

As important as Sherlock knew this was to John, he couldn't keep the bite of impatience from inside himself.

"I is a difficult letter, why don't you think of names with M instead?" Sherlock impatiently prompted, but John's reproachful gaze made him shut up for a moment.

"I really is difficult, isn't it?" Clara laughed weakly.

"How about Isaiah?" Sherlock asked, trying to think of some way to alleviate the surrounding issues of this name.

"It's just like Izzy though, isn't it?" John protested.

"Ira?" John made an uncertain noise to indicate that he wasn't sure.

"Innes?" Sherlock continued, sighing in a slightly exasperated way; he had his eyes closed as a mark of his frustration, but he snapped them open when he realised how silent Clara and John were. John was frowning slightly, but not in a manner of annoyance, more as though he was deeply considering this.

"Innes…" He murmured to himself, "What do you think Clara?"

"What does it mean?" She asked, taking lead from John's apparent enthusiasm.

"Uuuh…" Sherlock moved to pick up his phone from the counter; he was attempting to Google this as quickly as he could before John changed his mind about the name. "It's an Anglicization of Aonghus, it means 'one's strength'." Sherlock read from his phone.

"One's  _strength?_ " Clara sounded incredulous, Sherlock nodded. "That's perfect, don't you think?" She was addressing John, "He is the last piece, the surviving essence of Harry – he is the strongest part of her!" John didn't reply instantly; Clara reached out her hand and placed it on top of John's. "I don't mean that Harry was weak…" She confirmed in a low voice, "I mean that her greatest thing was her strength and her love, what is better emblemise both of those than her son…?"

It felt like the moment stretched out forever, but John's brows seemed to be set in a resolute manner as he finally nodded his head and said: "You're right… He's Innes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far!


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Clara had not continued to stay at 221B with John and Sherlock, she returned back to her own flat later on that evening as John was heading back to the hospital for the evening visit.

There was no doctor present on the ward when John arrived, so he approached a young nurse who was carrying a pile of sheets into the ward: "Hi, uh – am I allowed to pick him up?" John asked, indicating his nephew nervously. The nurse's face broke into a wide grin;

"Of course you are! Don't worry, you're not going to get into any trouble – if you need any help, just give me a wave." She bustled off with the sheets, as John returned back to the side of the cot. Sherlock had taken one of the seats, leaving the one nearest the baby's cot empty for John to use. As John picked his nephew up, the baby squealed and squirmed at the discomfort of being moved, but he settled down again once John cradled him in his arms.

"Hello Innes." John whispered down at the baby quietly. "We finally managed to pick a name for you – well, it was Uncle Sherlock who suggested it for us and we thought it was just perfect for you, little man." It was rather bizarre for Sherlock hearing himself referred to as 'Uncle Sherlock', but he said nothing to protest the title, watching John with the infant. "I hope you like it." Innes' small arm had reached up, searching apparently for something to hold on to; John moved one of his arms so that Innes' fingers curled tightly around one of John's. "I'll take that as a yes, shall I?"

"Excuse me?" Sherlock had practically accosted one of the passing nurses almost an hour later while John was just saying goodbye to Innes – who was now crying at having to be put down again. "I was wondering how we would get the name tag on John's nephew updated?" He questioned; the nurse looked over at the tiny baby behind them.

"I can do that for you." She answered, leading Sherlock across to a small nurses station which had piles of files and an ancient looking computer on the desk. "Right, so it's for baby Watson, yes?" She asked, leaning over the computer and moving the mouse.

"Yes." Sherlock replied firmly.

"And it's a first name change, is it?" Sherlock nodded. "Alright, so what do you want me to put?"

"Innes. I-N-N-E-S." Sherlock told her, spelling it out just in case.

"I- double N- E-S." She repeated, "Awh, that's a lovely name! That's all updated on the system, I'll get it put on to his wrist bracelet as well."

"Thank you."

The reassurance that Clara was going to try and do something to find Paolo seemed to be soothing John hugely, he was no longer as restless as he had been in previous days. The next three days were much calmer – Sherlock and John seemed to slide very easily into the routine of visiting Innes twice a day, without any issues or panics from John. The knowledge that  _something_ was being done had eased most of his preoccupying fears of Innes being taken away from him. The decision on the name also seemed to have given him some kind of finality, Sherlock certainly found it easier referring to Innes rather than "the baby".

On the following Monday morning, as Sherlock and John were leaving the hospital, they were startled out of their conversation by a voice calling out from behind them:

"John!" It was Clara who was rushing towards them, "I knew you would be here, so I thought I'd catch you…" She panted, reaching them. "I've managed to get in contact with Paolo…" A taxi had just rolled up in the road beside them, and John indicated for Clara to climb in alongside them. "I managed to get in contact with Paolo's mum, and when I told her all that had happened, she passed on his number to me."

"Did you get in touch with him?" John asked, eagerly leaning forwards in the seat.

"Yes, and – uh…" She started confidently but then stopped and looked uncomfortable. "He said very explicitly that he didn't want anything to do with me, Harry or… or the "bastard child"." It took a moment for the impact of these words tyo sink in to John, despite the ferocity in which they were probably first uttered, they were good news for him.

"But that's kind of good… well – at least it means it's unlikely he's going to go for custody, right?" John consented, Paolo stating that he didn't want anything to do with the baby was good for John's cause, but he had to get Paolo to sign and confirm that. "Will you be able to contact him again? To try and get the legal matters sorted out?" Clara bit her lip.

"I might give you his number and you can contact him…" She mumbled, "I think he might just hang up the phone straight away if he hears my voice…"

"I can do that… that's not a problem." John agreed, climbing out of the taxi which had stopped outside the door to 221B and he3ld the door open for Clara to clamber out. "As long as we can get him to agree to sign something, then that should strengthen my case for adoption – that he doesn't want to have legal custody of the child." They were climbing up the stairs to the living room of the flat, but at the entrance of the room, John stopped.

"What?!" Sherlock exclaimed in annoyance, after having to stop abruptly to avoid banging into Clara who was in front of him.

"Good afternoon." Even from behind Clara and John, Sherlock could distinguish the voice of his brother, Mycroft. John had taken a few steps further into the room, allowing Clara to shuffle in beside him and Sherlock to tower over the two of them, seeing his brother comfortably sat in one of the armchairs.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked hastily, Mycroft's eyebrows raised as though questioning his brother's politeness.

"I have something for you." He replied curtly, fishing inside his briefcase and scooping out several thick documents. "The adoption papers." He stated firmly, holding out the papers for John. "Signed by Paolo Carolegsue."

John had reached out to accept the papers from Mycroft, one hand gripped on them as Mycroft dropped this last bombshell; John gaped at Mycroft in disbelief, still holding out the files of paper in front of him.

"What…?" He inhaled, sounding utterly dumbstruck.

"All of the papers are signed by the legal father." Mycroft proveeded. "So you can begin the adoption process straight away."

"I… What?!" John was frozen to the spot, unable to move – or by the sounds of it, breathe; Sherlock moved forwards and snatched the papers still being held in John's hand.

"Please breathe John, I really don't want to have to use CPR on you." Sherlock muttered as he flicked through the papers of the document, stopping on the place that had a sprawling signature it intensely for a few seconds, before holding out the papers for John to see. John took them with trembling hands and stared down at the signature on the page.

"I… I… I don't know what to say…" John stammered out, looking shocked, and as though he might be about to start crying; Clara was also gazing over John's shoulder at the piece of paper clutched in John's hand. "I…"

"You can complete the rest of the forms and that can be submitted as a formal request of adoption." Mycroft informed John.

"Shall we do that now?" Sherlock asked, half questioning Mycroft and half questioning John.

"If you fill it in, I can take it and file it with social services." Mycroft said unenthusiastically. "You do need two character references though."

"He's got two character references!" Clara said vehemently. "Me and Sherlock." Mycroft raised his eyebrows at Clara rather surprised; John felt the heat creeping up his face and was overwhelmed by a sudden gratitude towards Clara.

"It's a separate form for the character references from the main petition of adoption." Sherlock explained, extricating two thick pages from inside the folds of the document, handing one to Clara.

"Do you have a pen?" She asked quickly and Sherlock provided her with one.

Twenty minutes later, which had passed in almost complete silence apart from Mycroft tutting occasionally in impatience, John signed the final box with trembling hands and closed the sheaves of paper.

"Done." He said, a strange feeling strangling in his throat. Sherlock took the papers from John's hands and handed them over to Mycroft.

"Thank you." Mycroft said curtly, standing up from his armchair and sliding them into his briefcase. "I'll get them filed straight away." He began to leave. "Incidentally." He continued in a rather non-chalant manner, "The post-mortem has been completed, the body is available to be released – all they are waiting for is further instruction about what to do with the body."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far :)


	19. Chapter Nineteen

"How can you still be writing lists?" Sherlock asked John exasperatedly two days later. John was sat at the table that Sherlock often commandeered for his science experiments, surrounded by about twelve pieces of paper, each one containing a separate list.

"What do you mean Sherlock? I've got so much to plan for!" John ran his pen free hand through his hair and stared down at the list he was currently working on.

"How?" Sherlock said simply, "Clara is dealing with all of the funeral arrangements; Mycroft is dealing with the adoption papers, what else needs to be dealt with?"

"I know, I know… But I still have a lot of things to do. Hopefully if the adoption papers are accepted then I'll be able to bring Innes home soon – but I don't have anything for him, so I'll need to get clothes, and a cot, and all those sort of things!" John replied. "And I want to be sure that Clara has everything she needs to sort out the funeral arrangements, and…" John continued, increasingly over the past couple of days John had stopped trusting other people with important things to do – it was like he didn't trust them to do it right, so he wanted to do it himself or at least oversee to make sure it was done properly. "I need to find us somewhere else to stay, because I don't want to inconvenience you with a baby and all…"

"John, will you stop babbling?" Sherlock commanded suddenly, John stopped talking but his eyes looked hurt from the abruptness of Sherlock's words. "You don't need to worry about finding somewhere else to live, I don't mind you bringing Innes here – it's not going to inconvenience me at all."

"But…" John started.

"Not unless you want to leave that is." Sherlock cut over him and John closed his mouth once more. "As for everything else, all the equipment you'll need and stuff, leave that with me for a little while and I'll see if I can sort anything out."

"Okay." John agreed, more out of not wanting to be told off by Sherlock any more than agreeing with him.

"Let me make a few calls, alright?" Sherlock requested, John nodded in agreement."

John checked his watch as Sherlock left the room, he couldn't help but feel uncertain when Sherlock began offering to help… shuffling the paper around in front of him, he wondered whether he had been wise to allow Clara to do all of the funeral arrangements… She had spent probably the most time with Harry since childhood, but John still wasn't sure whether it should have been him sorting out his sister's final affairs. Clara would surely contact him if there was anything that she wasn't sure about. Clara had probably thought that she was doing John a favour for him, by trying to take some of the pressure off of him – but in an odd way it just made John feel worse… At least being occupied with something – whether it was worry about Innes' adoption, or arranging the funeral – kept his mind focused on something that needed to be done, it wasn't left open and empty to thoughts and the realities around Harry's death. That was the reason for the lists too, the lists were an occupying weight in his mind ; enough to keep him from spending all his time considering Harry.

Sherlock made several phone calls out in the hallway, where John couldn't quite hear what he was saying, but the length of time that he spent out there was much longer than John had expected, In the end John decided to not wait for Sherlock to come back in, and set about making lunch and a cup of tea for himself. There appeared to be a kind of stony silence between John and Sherlock which John was unwilling to break. Once Sherlock reappeared into the room after making several phone calls he made no allusion to their previous conversation; John was worried slightly by this sudden relapse into what was an uncaring attitude. But the thoughts of Sherlock's change didn't occupy his mind for long, by the time he had finished his lunch his brain had turned back to Harry and the arrangements being made…

"All going well, Innes will be able to come home on Friday." Dr. Harper had caught up with John and Sherlock near the end of evening visiting time later that day. Sherlock had remained silently aloof since lunch time, which had infuriated John immensely, but he had too much on his mind to even consider getting angry.

"Friday?" John's head jerked up suddenly to look at Dr. Harper. "But I… I haven't got the adoption replies back, legally I can't take him home!" John sounded a little panicked.

"Really?" Dr. Harper frowned and retrieved the files hung on the end of Innes' cot. "No, our files say that legal adoption status was granted to you yesterday… Have you not heard this?" John's heart had leapt into his mouth at these words, his head whirling with a new set of confusion influx of thoughts. Why had Mycroft not contacted them when legal status was granted? Could Sherlock's oddly distant mood be down to him knowing that status had been decided?

"A – are you serious?" John stammered.

"Absolutely positive." He replied, "If it's been marked on our files, then it's the case." He nodded rather matter of factly, closing the file and replacing it at the end of Innes' cot.

"I… I… Well…" John was speechless.

"Congratulations!" Dr. Harper said to the clearly shocked John, "I thought you would have known, but I'm glad you're pleased about it! And you'll be able to take him home on Friday, assuming that nothing untowards happens between now and then."

John spent the journey home panicking, he talked relentlessly about what preparations he would need to make for Innes to arrive home to; Sherlock did not take part in this conversation, but stared rather blankly out of the window of the taxi.

Upon arriving home they found the front door of the flat unlocked, and when they climbed the stairs came upon a great pile of boxes.

"Sherlock!" A woman's voice rang out from the living room; a thin woman, with neatly cut dark hair and a kind face approached him. Sherlock was rather stiff, but allowed the woman to hug him briefly. "And, this is John!" John had no idea who this woman was, but suddenly found himself receiving a hug from her.

"Mother." Sherlock nodded a little curtly and John stared at him. "John, this is my mother. I rang her and explained the predicament you are in about not having the suitable equipment to bring Innes home."

"I brought as much as I could find!" She broke in cheerily. "Most of it is rather old, it all might need a clean – it was stored up in the loft, just in case Mycroft or yourself needed it." She gave Sherlock a quick searching look before continuing. "But neither of them have had any use for it, so it's best if it'll be used by you!" She beamed at John.

"I – thank you!" John exclaimed in surprise.

"Now, there's a cot here…" She began rummaging around among all the boxes, "And a moses basket too, oh – and there's clothes packed into most of the boxes, although they might be too big for your nephew, seeing as he was so premature… however Sherlock was a little premmie himself so some of his old baby clothes might fit Innes." She rambled on, still shuffling boxes.

"We can sort through all the boxes mother," Sherlock told her, as she untangled an old mobile with wooden star shapes and planets attached to it. John was smirking rather amusedly, remembering how he had once remonstrated Sherlock about his lack of knowledge of the solar system.

"I know… I mustn't really stay long… things to do!" She straightened up and gazed and Sherlock, as though considering him. "I wish you'd come to visit more Sherly, it'd be nice to see you back at the house… maybe you could come round now that you'll have Innes to look after!" She suggested cheerily; she patted her bag as though checking it was still there. "Right, well, I better be off."

"T – thank you Mrs. Holmes, I don't even know what to say!" John stammered in gratitude.

"Not at all, not at all!" She waved his thanks off, "You always know that you have a willing baby sitter if you ever need one!" She winked at him, and hugged her son once more before leaving.

Only after the sound of the front door closing did Sherlock move, crossing the room and collapsing into his armchair; he had a particularly sullen look on his face that plainly displayed that he did not want to talk about it. John, however, didn't care – he wanted to find out about the incident that had just happened.

"It's really nice that your mum brought all this stuff round." John said casually, opening the lid of the nearest box to find it full of neatly packed baby clothes.

"Hmmm…" Sherlock grunted, still staring in front of him.

"Did you ask her to bring all this stuff?" He continued, pulling out the baby grow on top – it was old fashioned, yet in perfect condition, a little musty but surely a wash would sort that out.

"Yes." Sherlock replied, "I knew she still had it, she has always been hopeful…"

"Hopeful of what?" John asked.

"What do you think? A grandchild!" Sherlock answered rather sarcastically. "It's never looked likely for her, not until now…"

"What do you mean 'not until now'?" John frowned over at Sherlock, who crossed his arms rather defensively over his chest and stayed silent for a moment.

"Mycroft has always been very conscious of what mother has expected from the two of us." Sherlock started lowly, "And conscious that neither of us looked set to fulfil those expectations. I think he felt guilty that she believed that she had produced two sons who didn't seem interested in family. It's nothing to do with her actually, it's my father who-" Sherlock cut off abruptly, and John noticed a dark shadow in his eyes which had just become more obvious. "Anyway, Mycroft has been telling tales." He finished very abruptly.

"What do you mean 'telling tales'?" John pushed, he  _hated_ it when Sherlock spoke entirely in riddles.

"About us…" Sherlock mumbled so quietly that John almost couldn't hear him, he was gazing very determinedly at the floor now – averting his eyes from John.

"Us?" John questioned, Sherlock sighed heavily.

"About the type of our relationship…" Sherlock explained and when John continued to look rather confused, he added: "Like 'more than just friends'."

"More than just friends?" John repeated blankly, Sherlock gave a curt nod and John noticed that a dull flush had crept up Sherlock's face which made John stare at him in disbelief. "Like 'boyfriends'?" Sherlock didn't reply at all, he just looked feebly at John, for the first time John seemed to have stumbled into a situation that left Sherlock speechless. "And your mum thinks that… haven't you corrected her?"

"I've tried." Sherlock mumbled, "But she seems to listen to Mycroft more than me, she always did." Sherlock sounded a little grumpy, then very abruptly Sherlock changed tack: "Shall I help you unpack the boxes?" His voice had sprung back to the way it usually sounded; he pushed himself up from his chair and lifted the lid from one of the boxes. "We could sort everything into categories, you know: clothes, cot, toys…"

"Yeah… yeah, that's a good idea." John agreed, unnerved by Sherlock's sudden rush to change the subject. Sherlock's family's perception of him had been something which had never crossed John's mind before – first of all, he hadn't ever heard Sherlock mention his parents, and he had assumed that they weren't in contact – so how could they possibly know about John? But it now seemed like this lack of contact was due to Sherlock. As they sorted piles of baby grows and pyjamas and socks, and sorted out old soft toys John let his mind wonder endlessly about the fact that Sherlock's mother considered him and Sherlock to be "more than just friends" and what that really meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think about this chapter/story so far! :)


	20. Chapter Twenty

"Everything ready for you to take Innes home to?" Dr. Harper asked a very tense John on Friday morning, when he appeared at the ward carrying a car seat with him.

"Oh don't get him started or we'll be here for another few hours." Sherlock commented warningly, as John didn't seem able to open his mouth, his jaw was clenched so tightly shut.

"Are you worrying about taking Innes home?" Dr. Harper asked, ignoring the warning that Sherlock had just given.

"Just a little bit." John said, his hands twitching on the handle of the new car seat. After the delivery from Sherlock's mother there had come two other deliveries: one containing several items that John would need, like bottles, a steriliser and a car seat; and the other from the local supermarket, with baby milk and nappies.

"You don't need to be worried at all; you've got as much support as you need here. The community nurse will be dropping in every now and then just to check on Innes; progress, you know his weight and everything, but if you've got any concerns or questions then you can always fire us them and we'll do our best to help." He told John reassuringly.

"Thanks." John murmured.

"The nurse was just doing a last feed and changing in here, and then he'll be all yours!" He said brightly.

John had been in a state of continual panicked terror for the past two days, Sherlock was pretty convinced that John hadn't slept during that time – which seemed irresponsible because as soon as Innes got home, he wouldn't be getting very much sleep at all. Sherlock was sure that John was attempting to put on a brave face when inside he had no idea what on earth to do.

"We've gotten very used to Innes on the ward, it'll be sad to see him leaving, but I'm glad that he's going to a wonderful home with a fantastic uncle to look after him." Dr. Harper told John. "He's very lucky…"

"Not as lucky as he would be if he still had Harry."

"But he has you… and that's better than if he had no one."

"I guess." John agreed as they were led towards the cot which had been Innes'. The cot was empty as Dr. Harper had said it would be, and the two of them took the seats still next to it.

"I've got some paperwork for you to sign, just to confirm the discharge of Innes." Dr. Harper told John, and went off to find those papers that John would have to sign. John was moving restlessly in the chair, seemingly not able to get comfortable. Sherlock wanted to say something, something comforting, but the only words that came into his mind would come across as exasperated, not comforting.

"Here we go." The nurse had brought back Innes and placed him into John's arms the moment that John had laid down the car seat. Innes was still smaller than most babies, but he seemed remarkably alert now. His blue eyes stared up at his uncle and he seemed to be much more aware of his surroundings now.

"And here are the papers." Dr. Harper announced, returning just moments after Innes had been settled into John's arms.

"Right, okay…" John mumbled, and began settling Innes into the car seat and strapping him in securely. He then took the clipboard with the paper from the doctor and looked down at them, it was an order of discharge form, and all it really required was his signature, yet his hand was trembling to much that the signed name barely looked legible. He handed it back to Dr. Harper, who smiled widely and said:

"Well then, you're free to go."

"Thank you." John said, and Sherlock could hear the sincerity in his voice. "Thank you for everything that you've done."

The first few hours of having Innes at home in flat 221B were utterly surreal for John; just the mere presence of the baby had turned John into a quivering wreck. Innes had fallen asleep on the car journey back and John seemed to be watching him very intently, as though consciously checking that he was still breathing. Sherlock found this indulgence of John's rather boring, and he had to hold his tongue – these were the first hours of John's new life and Sherlock was not in any position to dictate the terms of it. After three hours of John staring at the baby, refusing to engage in conversation and not allowing the tv to be turned on in case of waking Innes, Sherlock retired to his bedroom. He wondered how long John could keep this up, whether he would settle in to his role of parent over the next few days, surely over time he would get used to the worries which right now seemed to be overcoming him.

Sherlock heard John's footsteps several times during that evening, accompanied by the screaming of Innes. Sherlock considered going and offering to help, but he doubt that John would let him. Give it a few days, Sherlock thought, then he'll be asking for help.

Morning dawned at 7:45am, as Innes began to wail for what seemed like the twelfth time in one night to Sherlock; as efficient as he was in coping while deficient in sleep, the punctuations throughout the entire night were not most conducive to getting any kind of rest. John's face mirrored this feeling as Sherlock entered the living room to find John with a bottle feeding Innes in one hand and his eyes shut as though trying to remain in a gentle doze.

"Morning." Sherlock greeted John, whose eyes snapped open the moment Sherlock spoke.

"Hi." John replied blearily.

"Sleep well?" Sherlock joked, and John grunted in response. "Would you like some tea?"

"Please…!" John answered enthusiastically, adjusting his elbow to make sure that Innes was able to get the last of the milk in the bottle. "I had hoped that he might have slept a bit more than he did…"

"He is a baby, that is what he is meant to do… you know? Wake up, cry, eat, shit and sleep." Sherlock responded and John frowned at him. "Maybe his first night away from what he's been used to in the hospital might have shaken him up a bit…" Sherlock tried to sound hopeful, "Maybe he'll settle down tonight."

"I hope…" John mumbled, placing the nearly empty baby bottle on the armchair and propped the baby up on his knee to rub his back and burp him. "I bet you he sleeps all day…" John said, "Maybe I should do that, if he's so intent on being up most of the night."

"Here we go." Sherlock placed the cup of tea down on the table next to John; John was now stroking the fine hairs on Innes' head which seemed to be a soothing motion for them. John settled Innes into his baby chair and placed him in front of the tv, today wasn't a day for activities and so he turned it onto one of the kid's channels and let Innes be absorbed by the bright colours and soothing sounds until he fell asleep bouncing in the chair. John himself kept continually dropping into a doze, and his head jerked up waking him up.

Around twelve Clara turned up at the flat, John had not been expecting to see her, but it was a nice surprise when she appeared. She unfastened Innes from his baby seat and picked him up, almost as though this was completely natural – she seemed to have gotten over her absolute terror of Innes, and now was able to cope with being around him. She bounced him upon her knee, playing with him.

"Is everything alright?" John asked, once she had settled down on the sofa.

"Yeah, yeah, of course!" She replied, "I just thought I'd come and see Innes now that he's at home and congratulate you on your successful adoption!"

"Thanks." John smiled at her, "Would you like a cup of tea? I'm just about to put the kettle on to heat up Innes' next bottle, he should be due a feed pretty shortly."

"Yeah, that'd be lovely." Sure enough, as John had predicted, he could hear Innes getting a little bit grizzly in the time that it took for the kettle to boil; he placed the bottle in a glass bowl and poured hot water in surrounding it (he had decided this way was probably safer than the microwave, because he wasn't sure whether Sherlock had cleaned it out properly since he had last microwaved human fingers!). He carried the cup of tea and the bottle through at the same time, and was about to take Innes from Clara when she protested:

"I'll give him it, you'll be used to doing it all the time, it'll be one less for you to do today." She took the bottle.

"Thanks." He accepted the offer gratefully and watched her as she pressed the tip of the bottle gently against Innes' cheek and he turned towards the bottle, mouth obediently open.

"How did you get him to do that?" John asked suddenly; the past few feeds he had had to wrestle with Innes before he could get the bottle into his mouth, a considerable volume of milk had ended up dribbling down his chin.

"It's an instinctive response." Clara explained. "When a baby is hungry all you have to do is brush their cheek and they turn to face the direction of what brushed them with their mouth open." True to her word, Innes had immediately latched onto the teat of the bottle and began sucking instantly.

"I'll have to remember that." John muttered, wishing that he had the memory capacity of Sherlock to lock and store useful pieces of information.

"There's something else…" Clara said after a few minutes of no sound apart from Innes sucking on the bottle. "I've arranged the funeral." This statement was met with a very echoing silence.

"When?" John eventually found his voice.

"Wednesday." She answered quietly. "I… I wanted to ask if you would mind me telling some of Harry's friends?"

"Of course!" John replied enthusiastically, "I want as many people to be there, I want as many people to celebrate her…"

"Thank you." Clara smiled, "Will you bring Innes?" She asked, as Innes finished the last dregs of the milk in the bottle.

"How could I not? He's Harry's son… he has as much right to be there as anyone else, even if he's only a month old."

"Good. Harry would have wanted him there." Clara agreed.

"Where abouts is it?" John questioned.

"At Highgate crematorium, 1 o'clock ." She responded promptly.

"Thank you Clara, for sorting out all the arrangements, it's been… it's been a great help."

"I wanted to do it, for Harry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter/story so far! :)


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Innes had been howling for over twenty minutes, he was fastened into his car seat ready to go into the taxi to Harry's funeral – but John was holding up matters.

"I can't find the shirt that I'm looking for!" He called for Sherlock to hear.

"Is it the white one?" Sherlock replied, he had been ready for an hour now as John had been over panicking about them being late; so now Sherlock was attempting to appease the screaming child with little success.

"Yes! Have you seen it?" John appeared at the door, a tie in his hand.

"I ironed it for you, it's on the pile of laundry." Sherlock had already told him his, but nothing seemed to be retaining in his skull for more than about two seconds.

"Oh right, thanks!" he said absent mindedly. "Can you do something with Innes? Maybe he needs changed or something? Can you check before we have to go?" Sherlock sighed; it was not that Sherlock didn't like looking after Innes, on the contrary it actually interested him very much, it was John's current state that was constantly alerting him to the fact that something was wrong. He fumbled with the strap holding Innes into the car seat, undoing it and picking Innes up, at the same time calling:

"Come on John, the taxi will be here in a moment." Innes did not need changing, and he had just been fed, so he could not be hungry, but when he was picked up he settled more, stopped wailing. Possibly he just wanted to be held…

John was looking neater than Sherlock had ever seen him, his black suit freshly cleaned and the shirt white and crisply ironed and a black tie. He took Innes out of Sherlock's arms when he appeared in the living room and replaced him into his car seat. A car horn beeped from outside.

"That'll be the taxi." Sherlock said, and John picked up the car seat containing Innes and proceeded to follow him.

John remained completely silent on the way to the crematorium, Sherlock supposed that it was down to the event they were going to. His face grew paler and stonier every second as they drew closer to the crematorium.

Clara was waiting outside the building, dressed entirely in black and surrounded by a small gaggle of rather bedraggled people; Sherlock assumed that these were Harry's old friends.

"Hi." Clara said to John after they had climbed out of the taxi, she was not as bright as usual – and her eyes looked very bloodshot again, as though she had been crying already. "We're just waiting to be called in." She explained why they were all waiting outside; John nodded. "How is Innes?"

"He's doing good." John answered; this was not entirely true – the last few days had been tough. Innes did not seem to be settling at home with John, he cried almost continuously and barely slept at all during the night. Sherlock wondered if the anxiousness that John was feeling was impressing upon the baby.

"Good, I'm glad." She nodded. The doors of the crematorium opened behind her and a member of staff beckoned the people, notifying them that they could now enter.

A hushed silence covered the people as they filed into the room, which was set out with rows of chairs into which everyone took seats on. Clara, Sherlock and John, carrying Innes, took places in the front seats, closest to the podium where the funeral director would stand to take the funeral. An unbelievable sweep of grief clammed over John, as he unstrapped Innes from the car seat and lifted him into his arms; feet away from them was the body of his sister, and Innes' mother, inside a coffin which would be her last resting place. He clutched onto the baby who had fallen asleep during the taxi journey, as music swelled up coming from somewhere behind the rows of chairs. A young man had proceeded up the side of the rows of chairs and took took the position at the front of the congregated group.

"We are here today to celebrate the life of Harriet Watson." He began, and John's mind began to filter out the noise from everything around him. It felt as though he was being encased in water – everything sounded blurry, far away, as though he wasn't actually present. He couldn't focus, couldn't concentrate, the voice inside his head was scolding him because of his inability to bring his mind into focus. He didn't  _want_ to accept this was real, he suddenly wished that this was all a horrific dream… John felt like a gaping chasm was opening up in the pit of his stomach that would devour every last piece of his soul, sucking every piece of happiness that had ever been inside of him. What brought John's mind back to reality was the sound of crying – not the grief-stricken sobbing that was coming from Clara to his right, or the sniffing sounding from those individuals behind him, but the desolately empty cry of a child. Innes was crying in John's arms, his small face screwed up and red, howling from the depths of his lungs. John attempted to quieten him down as the pitch of his screaming was almost drowning out the funeral director entirely.

"Here, give him to me." Sherlock whispered into John's ear, holding his hands out to take Innes; John paused for a second, and then allowed Innes to be taken from his arms. Sherlock shuffled out of the row with the crying Innes and moved to the back of the room near the door. John stared at the coffin, feeling his throat closing and his eyes burning with unshed tears; he still couldn't concentrate, his mind suddenly reeling and teeming with memories. Himself and Harry as kids, hours and hours of them playing on a wide stretch of barren grassland; Harry visiting him while he was at university and getting so drunk that John spent the few days looking after her; the long period of absence, his fury about her alcoholism and his refusal to be part of her life. Then even more vivid: the night she appeared at the flat, them rushing to the hospital, her labour and John being there, his guilt at not noticing something was wrong, her death, and her son… almost absent mindedly, as if he had forgotten where he was, he fumbled his phone out of his pocket and found the picture on it. He had forgotten about it entirely. He stared down at the picture that the nurse had so obligingly taken for them – Harry, looking exhausted, holding the bundled baby Innes in her arms and John beside her, grinning with pride. It was this picture – more than anything, more than the place where they were, than the coffin mere feet from him – which crushed the feelings down inside of him and released the repressed tears from his eyes. He placed his hands over his face; he didn't want to be here anymore, he didn't want this reality…

"John?" Clara's voice penetrated the memories encompassing him. He looked up, the coffin was slowly descending and the funeral director had left the podium. It was over… "John? Are you alright?" This was an incredibly stupid question for anyone to ask, especially at the funeral, but he nodded anyway. "I think me and the rest of the guys are going to go for a drink, you know…" She shrugged as though this was self-explanatory. "I thought I'd ask whether you wanted to come along?" It took a long time for this question to register in John's head, but it eventually did.

"Uh… no… thanks, but I think I should head home… Innes will need a feed soon…" He answered very despondently.

"Oh… okay." She nodded understandingly, "Well, I'll come round soon, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay." John agreed without even thinking. Clara moved off to join the gaggle of people that were still waiting just beside the door, but John stayed in the same place for several more seconds, frozen stiff. Until Sherlock approached him carrying the, now mercilessly, not crying Innes.

"Shall we go?" He asked, John nodded again and picked up the car seat; Sherlock initially made a movement to give Innes back to John, but John recoiled slightly.

"Can you take him, please?" Sherlock as surprised by this request, but he didn't deny it. He carried Innes and walked alongside John out of the crematorium building and out onto the road; it was a main road and busy with traffic, but there wasn't a taxi among the lines of cars.

"Shall we walk until we can hail a taxi?" Sherlock suggested, again John didn't speak, but jut began to walk along the road in silence. Three quarters of the way down the road Sherlock spotted a taxi and managed to awkwardly hail it with Innes still in his arms.

John sat in his armchair, he had not spoken since they left the crematorium and he had hardly shown signs of inhabitation – it was like shutters behind his eyes had been drawn down, closing out all light or life. He just  _wasn't there…_  Innes was asleep, for the time being, in his car seat – and Sherlock didn't want to disturb him by taking him out of it. Sherlock tried to find things to do which meant that he could keep an eye on John, without being overtly noticeable as watching him. John didn't move for over half an hour, then he suddenly stood up.

"Sherlock, can you look after Innes for a bit? I don't feel very well, I think I need some sleep." He said.

"Yeah, of course." Sherlock answered, and watched as John left the living room.

He just needed to be alone for a while. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside – there was something just so unbelievably harrowing and soul wrenching that he had been physically hit over the head by something very large and heavy, it was weighing down of his body, there was a bubbling, swelling feeling inside of him which was overwhelmingly strong. It was fighting, and winning, to become the dominant influence inside of him; and in the end it won. John collapsed backwards onto his bed, curling his knees up to his chest, very much like the fetal position that a young child often felt comfortable in. And he sobbed; impounded by incomprehensibility, imprisoned in inconsolable grief and pain. It was just sinking in; it was all becoming real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think about this chapter/story so far!


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

It was Saturday morning before Sherlock began to be really concerned – four days had passed since Harry's funeral and Sherlock had barely seen John since. He had spent most of his time in his room, accompanied by Innes, only surfacing to make up bottles for Innes. Sherlock had not seen him eat, he knew he hadn't washed, there was an overwhelming sense of disparity all around him. Each individual had his own measure of how to deal with grief, and possibly isolation was John's method, However, he could not pretend not to be concerned about this peculiar behaviour. He knew more than most that remaining within the same four walls for an extended period of time was not healthy – not for an adult, and especially not for a baby.

So when the sounds of a screaming child issued once again from John's bedroom, Sherlock attempted to take action. He stood for a while outside John's bedroom door before tapping gently on the door. All noise of movement from inside the room ceased, the only thing that continued was Innes' crying.

"John?" Sherlock called through the door, "John, can I help at all?" There was no reply. Absolutely nothing. Sherlock remained outside the door for a further ten minutes, before giving up and leaving…

Inside the room, a fear had seized John as he paced around the room, trying to console the wailing child. He had absolutely no idea why Innes was still crying, he had tried everything he could think of to placate his nephew – but to no avail. Then he heard Sherlock speaking through the door and he made such a conscious effort not to make any sound at all that the level of crying from Innes intensified sharply. He was not in a mood to interact with anyone; he did not want to talk. He felt as though the weight that had descended upon him on Wednesday had not lifted, if anything it had gotten heavier. Once he was sure that Sherlock was gone from outside the door, he placed Innes back into the cot and sat on the edge of the bed, rocking it gently and staring into space.

He could not even begin to fathom or explain the emotions he was experiencing. Tormenting memories, deep pools of emptiness and loss, waves of guilt crashed over him in relentless and reoccurring phases; none of which he could sort out during the time that these feelings were present. Despite the strong feelings inside him, most of the time he just felt numb.

He had hardly spared a second to think about what Sherlock might be thinking; he had only come into contact with him when he had been preparing bottles for Innes and he had never spoken to him. He didn't know what Sherlock wanted, or why he was now checking up on him. His hands were now trembling as he rocked the cot that Innes was in, his crying had died down, but had not stopped completely. John just wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop: Innes' crying, the progression of time, the absolute reality of hurt…

Sherlock spent most of the morning pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, up and down and across the living room, avoiding the tables and chairs. He was not at all sure what to do about John, but he knew  _something_ had to be done. He needed someone who would understand the normal feelings of grief, the position that John was in, much more than Sherlock could. Eventually he had a brainwave, and he called the man he knew was most human apart from John, and therefore the most likely to help:

"Hello, Lestrade? It's Sherlock. I think I need your help, with John."

The knock on the door was greatly anticipated by Sherlock, but when he opened the door he was slightly shocked to see not only Lestrade, but Molly Hooper standing there also.

"Hi Sherlock." Lestrade greeted him, "I came as soon as I could." Sherlock held the door open to let them pass and Lestrade climbed the stairs with Molly at his coat tails.

"Thank you for coming, I hope I wasn't taking you away from anything important."

"Paperwork is never important." Lestrade replied, he was dressed in a suit and tie; obviously he had come from work. Molly, however, was not in work clothes, the mortuary was not on the way from Scotland Yard; he wondered where he had picked her up. "I bumped into Molly on the way and thought she might be able to help." Lestrade explained in answer to Sherlock's look. "So, what's going on?" Suddenly there came the sound of crying from upstairs, both Molly and Lestrade looked up in surprise. "What's going on?" Lestrade repeated.

"To cut a long story short…" Sherlock began, "About five weeks ago John's sister, Harry, came to the flat, she was pregnant and had pre eclampsia; we took her to hospital and she had the baby, but she crashed… And she died." Molly's hands flew up in front of her face.

"Five weeks ago? Around the time that you requested I didn't involve you in any cases at the moment?" Lestrade inquired as though this was explaining quite a lot.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, "There was so much going on and I thought that it might help John if I didn't go running off investigating cases for a while. We managed to get custody for John, Mycroft helped with the filing of it, and Harry's funeral was on Wednesday."

"I didn't realise Sherlock. I'm sorry." Lestrade replied, but Sherlock waved it off.

"It's John I need help with… Since the funeral, John hasn't come out of his room, he hasn't spoken at all and he's got Innes in the room with him."

"Innes is…?"

"The baby." Sherlock prompted. "It's not healthy, him shutting himself away, especially the baby."

"His grief is understandable…" Molly said simply.

"It's not his grief that I don't understand, it's him shutting himself away… I'm worried about him, and I don't know what to do or how to deal with this. You both understand that when it comes to feelings and stuff, I'm not the most sensitive person…" Lestrade was smirking, which irked him slightly but he couldn't refute it. "But I do want to help…" There was a silence between the three of them, and then Molly spoke:

"Leave it to me." She stood up, "His bedroom is upstairs?"

"The first on the right." Sherlock nodded. Molly climbed the stairs and located the first bedroom, the crying was much louder up here. She tapped on the door.

"John, it's Molly." She called through the door, there was no response from inside. "John, if you don't reply then I'm going to assume that something is wrong and come in whether you like it or not." She paused, her hand on the door handle, but there came movement from inside and the door opened just wide enough for Molly to see half of John's face. The bit she could see was pale, tired and careworn.

"What?" He asked roughly.

"Can I come in?" She asked, John seemed to consider her for a few long moments and then sighed. "If you must." He threw the door open, allowing her to enter. The room was almost in complete darkness, the curtains pulled shut, John himself certainly looked worse for wear; his face was grimy and his hair was unwashed and dishevelled; there were great bags under his eyes which proclaimed that he hadn't slept in a while. Molly perched upon the edge of John's bed, near the cot which held the screaming child.

"I'm sorry John." Molly said quietly as she watched John skulking over in the shadows by the wall. "About your sister." John did not respond, and Molly tried to think of what to say. "Can I pick him up?"

"Sure." John grunted, Molly reached down into the cot and picked up the baby; rocking him gently in her arms, Innes began to quieten down. "Why are you here?" He asked abruptly, his arms were crossed over his chest in a defensive manner.

"Sherlock asked Greg to come over." Molly answered honestly. "I bumped into him on the way here."

"Oh yeah?" John responded harshly.

"Yes." She said looking directly at him. "He's very worried about you." A silence filled the space as John glared at her, but then his gaze faltered and he looked at the floor. "He wants to help, but he doesn't know how to."

"He doesn't need to help." John mumbled.

"No… but he  _wants_ to." Molly insisted. "John, I know that it's hard-"

"You don't know." John said curtly and abruptly. "You have no idea."

"Okay, I maybe don't know  _exactly,_ but I do understand a bit." She replied. "Haven't you ever wondered why I became a pathologist?" She asked, "It's not the most common of job aspirations, is it?" She smiled weakly. "When I was younger, my sister Lucy had an accident, she died when we were thirteen." John stared at Molly, his mouth slightly open; she was stroking Innes' head gently and he had gone silent, apparently falling asleep. "So maybe I don't know how it feels to have to look after a new born, but I do know what it feels like to lose a sister."

"Oh…"

"Sherlock wants to help you, and you should let him." She insisted.

Sherlock and Lestrade had sat in silence from the time that the crying of the baby stopped; eventually, Molly reappeared back down the stairs, carrying baby Innes.

"You spoke to him?" Sherlock inquired instantly, springing to his feet; Molly nodded.

"Here." She said, passing Innes across to Sherlock. "He asked if you could look after Innes for a while, so he can get some sleep. I said yes, I hope that's alright."

"Yeah, that's fine." Sherlock responded, arranging Innes in his arms comfortably. "What did he say?" Molly sat down on the sofa next to Lestrade, who was also watching Molly with some interest.

"He's very tired." Molly said, "But I think he will be alright, in a bit of time."

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked inquisitively.

"I spoke to him; he misses his sister, I think it's only beginning to sink in that she's really gone." She explained, "I think that he understands that he needs some assistance in looking after Innes."

"Thank you." Sherlock nodded. "I'm so glad that he spoke to you." A squirming weight seemed to have relieved itself from his stomach, even though he hadn't spoken to John,  _someone_ had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far! :)


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

John woke slowly; he was curled into a tight ball with his bed covers entwined around him in a tangle. It took him several minutes to really come to, he was so warm and still so tired that he could easily have gone back to sleep. However, as he brought his arm round from bent behind him, he opened his eyes ever so slightly and was looking directly at the empty cot. He sat bolt upright, where was Innes? Then he remembered and sank back down onto his bed: Sherlock was looking after him so John could get some rest. He had been asleep for nearly six hours, the curtains despite having not been opened that morning were much dimmer with the evening light that was now coming through them. He should probably get up and relieve Sherlock from babysitting duties, he would probably have been driven out of his mind by Innes' crying. The bright lights that were turned on in the hallway and living room made John squint, his eyes had been so accustomed to the darkness recently that the light brunt them. Sherlock was sat on the sofa, his long thin hands placed on either side of the infant, who was awake and staring up into Sherlock's face. It was practically the first time that John had known Innes to be awake and not be bawling his head off. Sherlock was talking to Innes, but he wasn't lowering his voice like most people did when addressing a baby, he was talking to him as though he was an adult that he was conversing with.

"These are your phalanges, and I must admit you have an excellent grip with them." He had reached out a finger to touch Innes' fingers, but the baby had curled his hand around Sherlock's outstretched finger. "Now you've got three kinds of bones in your phalanges, the distal, intermediate and proximal. Most people call the phalanges, fingers. That's probably what you'll learn them as, if John has any say." John cleared his throat and Sherlock turned his head to see John in the doorway. "Hello John. Are you alright?"

"I… I thought I should come and relieve you of Innes." John said weakly, his voice wasn't more than a croak.

"Oh you don't have to." Sherlock answered calmly. "I can look after him tonight; I can put him in the Moses basket, so you can get a decent bit of rest. We're having quite a good anatomy lesson, aren't we Innes?" Sherlock twitched the finger that Innes was holding onto.

"Oh, okay." John said. "Thanks, night." And without another word, or pause, John turned round and made his way back up the stairs. He waited for a moment at the top of the stairs, and could hear Sherlock's voice saying:

"These are your metacarpals and your carpal bones; those are the bits that join your hand to your wrist." Sherlock had gone back to the anatomy lesson.

John sat down on the edge of his bed once more, for some reason he had lost all the good, warm feeling that he had had when he was waking up. It was like they had all drained out of his feet and been replaced by the cold, numbing sensation all over again. He thought that Sherlock would have been going crazy having to look after the screaming Innes, but on the contrary both of them seemed to be perfectly fine without John. Innes never stopped crying when he was with John, but Sherlock had succeeded on quietening him down within a matter of hours. Sherlock was better at looking after Innes than he was; Innes was better off without him. Everyone was better off without him…

The consuming emptiness that had grown up inside of him had not faded away in his sleep; it had increased if anything. The absence of Innes was both a double edged sword; it was nice to not have to be consciously trying to shut Innes up; he wasn't in the right frame of mind to be looking after him. But with him not being in the room, he felt guilty – he had promised Harry that he would look after Innes, and right away he had pawned him off at the first opportunity. He ripped off the socks that he had been wearing for two days and then collapsed back on to the mattress. John's mind wouldn't shut up – he felt inundated, under barragement; he screwed up his eyes as though it would stop the thoughts. His stomach was squirming inside of him as he pulled the duvet up over his head' why did these thoughts plague him whenever he just wanted to sleep?

He sunk into an uneasy sleep, waking up periodically as if his brain kept trying to remind him about Innes needing fed; but every time it took him longer to get back to sleep…

When he woke up just after 8am he noted that he hadn't once heard Innes cry throughout the night; perhaps his first thought had been right – they were all better off without him. He was still curled into a ball, his knees very close to his chest, but suddenly it felt as though feet were pressing down upon his chest. Sobs were rising up inside him and he was unable to suppress them; he buried his face deep into the duvet, masking them with the bedclothes. He was being so incredibly stupid, or that's how he felt. He had never, ever gone to pieces like this before – not when either of his parents had died, or when he had lost anyone while in the army… so why now? He had barely seen, or been in contact with Harry for the past several years; so why had her death triggered such a cataclysmic collapse within him?

'It's because she's your sister! Was your sister…' The logical part of his brain was attempting, at least, to justify the reasons for his meltdown. He didn't know what to do either, how to get rid of these feelings… but he did know that they weren't doing anything to help. There was no possible good that was coming from them. He should be focussing on his nephew, he should be able to get over his feelings and concentrate on what now had become his life… but he couldn't. It wasn't possible, it felt inescapable.

Hours later, although it felt like days, John resurfaced. He washed carelessly, trying to present some kind of proper face, even though it was useless. His skin was still pale, the bags under his eyes prominent; he was still bearing the unmistakable signs of grief… He could hear the baby gurgling as he came down the staircase, Sherlock must be doing something to amuse him and it was clearly working. He stood for a long pause at the door to the living room, watching Sherlock waving individual scientific instruments in front of Innes and explaining what they were; the bright colours of the objects must be keeping Innes' attention. It was quite a while before Sherlock noticed the shadow being cast by John standing at the door.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed, an air of relief present in his voice. "I didn't know if you'd come down today." John just nodded as a reply. "Do you want something to eat? Or a cup of tea?"

"I'll get something…" He answered vaguely, he was still watching Sherlock's hand dangling what looked like a bottle full of crimson liquid in front of Innes' baby chair. "Has he been alright?"

"Of course! He's been no trouble; he slept well, and he's had several feeds, and he's even been helping me tidy my chemical tray." Sherlock smiled; John thought how bizarre this was… Sherlock was so cold, calculating and inhumane to most of the adults he came into contact with, but his behaviour towards Innes showed an entirely different side to his personality, one which John had never experienced before. And it was certainly peculiar.

"Oh…" John made a small noise and looked down at his feet, shuffling them on top of the floorboards. "Good." He added eventually, attempting to cover up his obvious feelings making themselves known.

"Are you alright John?" Sherlock asked, his voice dropping an octave. John was still staring at his feet, his chest feeling tight again and a familiar warm burning sensation around his eye sockets which heralded the formation of new tears; trying to bring in air through his nose as his mouth was clamped so tightly shut. The oxygen wasn't enough for his brain and he felt a little bit dizzy; all he could feel was this sense of impending doom, like a hand was throttling him, slowly forcing all the life out of him. Suddenly a hand was gripping his upper arm: "John?" John took a gasping breath in, he could feel his whole body shaking and he couldn't really explain this sudden grip of hurt and panic that had seized him. The hand was holding onto him so tightly, almost keeping him upright. "John, take a deep breath in." John tried, but it caught at the back of his throat; he could hear himself wheezing shallowly, but could hardly stop it. "And again." He tried again, and this time he managed; the tightness seemed to be releasing itself from his chest and throat. "Come on, once more." He was still shaking, trembling almost uncontrollably, then the tears bubbled up and he let out a sob before he could even stop himself. Before he knew what was happening, Sherlock had drawn John into a kind of hug, his arm held tightly around John's shoulder. He buried himself into Sherlock's shirt, feeling the warmth beneath it, Sherlock's collarbone pressing against John's cheek. He couldn't repress the sobs that were escaping from him without even his conscious knowledge, but Sherlock's presence, the tight arm holding him was comforting. John couldn't tell for how long he stood there, close to Sherlock's person; but he eventually realised that he had stopped crying, he was just standing, being held tight and needing that embrace. "Are you okay?" Sherlock's voice was low and soothing; and it suddenly reinforced in John that Sherlock really cared. He tried to nod, but did nothing more than twitch.

"I'm sorry." He croaked finally; Sherlock moved slightly, each of his big hands on either side of John's shoulders.

"Don't apologise, you don't ever have to apologise for feeling upset." Sherlock said firmly. John looked up, Sherlock was gazing at him very intently; his eyes connecting with John's and conveying the depth and purity of his statement. "You don't apologise; not to me."

And without thinking, without hesitating, John acted on the impulse he was feeling inside him. He stretched up slightly; and kissed Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far!
> 
> Also, I think I'm coming to the end of this particular story, possibly might have thoughts for a sequel, but I'd still love to know whether you think it's worth continuing!


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Sherlock had always prided himself on his ability to read people; to notice tiny insignificant indications which could anticipate their actions, so perceptively that he seemed to know the action before their neurons sent their message of movement to the rest of their body. However, despite this ability to be able to read people's actions, he hadn't expected that from John… not in a million years.

The kiss was brief, but it established an instantaneous link. John drew back first and straight away looked down, hid face flushed crimson. Sherlock felt gobsmacked, his brain had stopped working – it had jammed.

"John?" He croaked finally; John had detached his shoulder out from underneath Sherlock's arm and shuffled about two paces away from him.

"I… Uh…" John seemed slightly surprised by his own actions. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's got into me; I didn't mean that." He apologised, but Sherlock didn't believe that. His heart was pounding so fast that it hurt, and he had completely forgotten about Innes still being in the room.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock had intended for his voice to sound strong, but it came out as a whisper. He knew John was still grieving, and grief could make people do the strangest of things, but that hadn't felt like the actions of a grief stricken man, it had felt genuine… Sherlock closed his eyes, he couldn't dare to hope, he couldn't dare to allow the deeply buried sentiment to rise to the surface purely from the behaviour of someone who wasn't in their right mind…

The weakness in Sherlock's voice overcame John's embarrassment and he looked up at Sherlock; whose eyes were closed as John surveyed his friend. He felt quite unable to explain logically exactly why he had just kissed Sherlock, apart from the reason that he had wanted to, he had just felt that it was right… There was something in Sherlock's voice, a longing which he was clearly trying to hide – and it rose up inside John and hit him in the face. Sherlock had described that his mother considered Sherlock and John to be 'more than just friends', and when he had done so, John could vividly remember Sherlock blushing. It occurred to him now that he had been blushing, not out of embarrassment about what his mum thought, but that he actually  _did_ like him…

"I don't know…" John answered honestly, he was so conflicted internally about everything in his life… Everything was upside down, or back to front in his head. He looked at Sherlock and then, unable to hold his gaze, his eyes flickered back down to the ground. He sat down heavily on the sofa, sinking his head into his hands and staring at the floorboards. He wasn't entirely sure of how he felt inside: the numb feeling was present, but there also seemed to be a firm base which had formed some kind of foundation inside him. He gingerly tested his own feelings – the rest of him was in turmoil over his life situation, but this firm base was inexplicable… Sherlock and Innes were solid points in his life, neither of them were about to run out. Yet, he couldn't be sure about his feelings, not now when none of his feelings were reliable. But… what if now was the best time to act upon those feelings that were solid? As if they were solid now, then it was unlikely that they would change…

"John? I'm sorry… I've made this uncomfortable." Sherlock's voice had returned back to its crisp manner, he had turned his attention back to Innes.

"When you said your mother thinks that we're 'more than just friends', is that feeling shared by yourself?" John asked awkwardly, lifting his head up a little.

"We don't have to talk about this right now…" Sherlock insisted, his voice unnaturally high.

"No, but I  _want_ to talk about it now!" John hadn't realised how loud or sharp his voice had suddenly gotten, but he realised when Innes made a startled cry at the sound. Sherlock blinked suddenly, obviously as startled at John's outburst as Innes was.

"Okay…" He said slowly.

"Oh… I'm sorry…" John moaned, allowing his head to drop back into his hands. "I… I don't know! I just…" He spoke incoherently. "I feel like I'm falling apart…" He managed to articulate finally; he felt the sofa cushions descend beside him and realised that Sherlock had sat down next to him.

"You're not falling apart, and you're not going to." Sherlock said calmly, John snorted rather sycophantically. "You're not." He insisted. "I'm not going to profess to understand how you're feeling, but I can say that you're not alone. You've got me, and Innes, and Molly, and Lestrade." There was a silence between them as John grappled with himself; he was avoiding letting tears overwhelm him again.

"I don't even know how I feel anymore…" John mumbled miserably. "I just know that it doesn't feel good."

"And that's alright," Sherlock answered, "But it won't last forever."

"But," John continued, stronger now. "I do know that that wasn't a mistake… I'm not so grief stricken that I don't know when something is solid." Again silence pooled for a few moments.

"You don't have to decide anything, you don't have to be sure about anything now." Despite the calmness of his voice, Sherlock seemed to physically twitch.

"But I  _am_  sure." John finally mustered the courage to raise his head. "I need to know how  _you_  feel about this."

"I'm not upset about it…" Sherlock said slowly, "I can't pretend that. I want you to, to know for definite before we have this conversation."

"I want this conversation now." John's confidence was growing at Sherlock's confirmation, and for the first time in days he felt something other than the cold numbness which had filled him recently – it was a tiny flutter of happiness. "Do you want..?" He started and stopped, then began again. "Would you like to be 'more than just friends'?" The question lingered for a second.

"If that's what you want, yes…" Sherlock replied. "Is it… what you want?"

John didn't vocally reply, but leaned forwards upon the sofa and kissed Sherlock again. The time Sherlock wasn't stunned into disbelief; one of his arms wrapped around John's shoulder and he was blissfully kissing John back.

"You're really good with him…" John commented, trying to keep the hint of jealousy out of his voice; Sherlock was making a cup of tea for them both and simultaneously managing to entertain Innes by flicking tiny paper missiles, propelling them hard enough that they soared straight over the baby chair.

"I'm not trying to…" Sherlock answered, pausing as he stirred milk into John's mug. "I'm just doing normal stuff with a baby for an audience."

"He seems to like you better than me…" John mumbled very quietly.

"Of course he doesn't." Sherlock reprimanded firmly, carrying the two mugs across to John. "He's just extremely receptive at the moment."

"What do you mean?" John asked, accepting the mug of tea and looking across at Innes in the baby chair.

"He's a baby…" Sherlock said, taking a sip of his tea, and seeming to think that this explained everything; John had raised his eyebrow trying to express that this  _didn't_ explain all. "It's his first priority to attach himself to those who are looking after him – the care bringers, the food providers it is important that they latch onto these people so they can get everything they need, but it also makes them incredibly vulnerable to the feelings of those providers. Innes can probably sense how you're feeling; your anxiousness and your grief, and it will imprint upon him."

"So…" John began slowly. "So he cries because he can tell how I'm feeling?"

"It could be a part of the reason…" Sherlock nodded.

"No wonder he's never stopped crying then." John covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh god… so  _I'm_ the reason why he's been so restless and unsettled!"

"No." Sherlock insisted. "It's not because of you… he just is more likely to be more receptive to you because you are important." But it wasn't enough – John had dissolved once more, crumpling in on himself. "John…" Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder again, "It is your right to grieve… it is a necessary for the continuation of your health."

"But Innes needs…" John started, but Sherlock cut him off in the calmest way he could.

"Innes needs you, but he needs you whole and able to look after him… and if that means for a while that you can't do that while you sort yourself out and work through your feelings, then he  _will_ understand… and I do too."

"How am I supposed to stop this?"

"Stop what?"

"These feelings… this existence!" John replied.

"I can help. If you want me to…" Sherlock offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far!
> 
> Also, I think I'm coming to the end of this particular story, possibly might have thoughts for a sequel, but I'd still love to know whether you think it's worth continuing!


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

John was consciously making an effort over the next few days, he got up in the morning and made his presence known, at the very least. On two of the days he felt the cold numbing weight inside of him, while Sherlock looked after Innes and tried to engage John in conversation. The other days, however, the weight felt as though it was beginning to ebb away; it didn't disappear altogether, yet it was no longer concentrated and paralysing as it had been before. During this time they didn't leave the house, despite Sherlock suggesting once or twice that they should maybe take Innes for a walk. John didn't feel quite up to leaving the flat just yet.

On the following Wednesday, however, they received a visitor – Clara had decided that she would pay them a visit, as it had been a week since she saw either of them and she had said at the funeral she would come to visit. Sherlock brought her up to the living room and made her a cup of tea while she sat down on the sofa and looked at John with a somewhat pitying look.

"How are you?" She asked.

"Alright, yourself?" John replied, trying to force an overly cheery tone into his voice, but she seemed to detect the falseness.

"It's tough…" She said honestly, "I know you feel the same."

"It's getting better." John admitted eventually. "Sherlock's been such a great help, he's helped look after Innes."

"How is Innes getting on?"

"Fine, perfectly fine… apart from the things that are part and parcel of being a baby, crying and stuff." John answered.

"Ah… are you not getting a lot of sleep?" She smiled a little at the baby who was bouncing slightly in his baby chair.

"It's not been too bad, Sherlock's been helping with nights too."

"Good, I'm glad." Sherlock appeared back with tea and sat down in his armchair. "I hear you've been helping out with Innes!" She beamed at Sherlock, and he shifted slightly.

"A little." He nodded, it was still obvious that he wasn't quite sure what to make of Clara, then his demeanour relaxed. "It's quite interesting actually… getting to watch Innes." John had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes, only Sherlock could turn looking after a baby into some kind of scientific experiment.

"So, have you been up to much?" She asked interested; John shook his head.

"Apart from looking after Innes, nothing much." Sherlock shot John a curious glance – perhaps he was wondering whether John was going to mention their kiss, and their start of a new kind of relationship. John wondered deeply, whether Sherlock would  _want_ him to tell Clara… It didn't seem right that Clara should be the first to know, especially as neither of them really knew her that well. He felt it would be a betrayal to Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly and Sherlock's mum; so he kept that part of their lives to himself.

Clara stayed for over an hour – most of the time was spent in circular conversations about Innes and how well he was doing. Her visit had propensiated the action of thought in John's mind, and almost at the moment when she left, he turned deliberately to Sherlock.

"Thank you." He said firmly.

"What for?" Sherlock asked in surprise.

"For everything. For helping with Innes and me, I don't know what I would have done without you." John told him.

"You don't need to thank me, I enjoy it!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"But I want you to know that I recognise how much you've done for me." John continued, "You've been beside me the whole way through, and I know UI haven't been that helpful or grateful, but I really am thankful that you've helped." Was Sherlock blushing? There was certainly a dull flush rising in his face and he looked down at the floor, as though he was unsure of how to accept this compliment.

"You're welcome." He murmured, picking up the empty mugs and he moved off to the kitchen to deposit them in the sink. John followed him into the kitchen, so that when Sherlock turned round he was nose to nose with John, and was in perfect proximity to kiss him.

"I really do enjoy it though," Sherlock insisted, a small smile playing across his mouth once John had drawn back from him. He had never thought he would see Sherlock feeling bashful, but then again, he had never expected half of what Sherlock was doing now. John felt a new kind of warm glow attempting to ignite itself inside him – Sherlock must really like him if he was putting this much effort in for him… And that was a peculiar feeling. "It's quite good fun actually, thinking that he's actually a little person, who will have thoughts and feelings and likes and dislikes and we've got to nurture him as he grows into these." John noted the use of the word 'we' and couldn't prevent the smile spreading across his face. "What?" Sherlock asked, seeing John's expression. John paused for almost a minute, in which Sherlock had begun to unfasten Innes from his bouncy chair where he had fallen asleep as he knew he would be due a feed very shortly; John was considering his words and how to explain just what he was thinking to Sherlock.

"It's just… I don't know, it's… It's…" John struggled. "Us."

"Us?" Sherlock's head had snapped up from looking at Innes to stare at John, the tiniest flicker of fear passing through his eyes. "Do you think it's a mistake, that you were just acting on impulse?" He was trying to make his voice sound controlled, and he was almost completely successful.

"No, no! Nothing like that." John answered instantly, Sherlock let out a breath. "I just… I can't say how thankful I am for you, and how good you've been to me. I… I don't want to sound presumptive, but has this been something you've wanted for a while?" John asked carefully.

"I've always cred." Sherlock answered diplomatically. "I've never been very good with the whole friends thing… ever. But you just waltzed in and took up this position, there's something about you that's just  _different_  from other people." He sighed. "There's something in you, or about you, that just unlocks and disarms me… And I don't know quite what it is, but it's good, because it makes me human again." John was feeling embarrassed now, he could feel his face burning. "So without you being too presumptive, you were sort of right, you have always been important to me, never more so than now."

"I hadn't realised…" John said slowly.

"It's not caused me any hurt or anything! Don't be under the impression that I've been pining away in my room over you." Sherlock corrected, seemingly anxious to make sure that John didn't think any different than he had been before. "You coming to live here, joining me on cases, being my friend, was more than enough for me to return to a semi normal life… Always from when I used to dabble in drugs and that kind of life. It's been a great help to me, and that is why I have tried to return it for you… Especially as I'm not very good at consistent thanks."

"Good, I'm glad." John nodded as a sign of his understanding and pleasure, but was also pleased by what Sherlock had told him. He had not realised before now how much his moving into flat 221B had actually helped Sherlock, just as it had done for him…

"That's one of the reasons that you don't need to thank me, because you've been as much of a help to me as I have been while looking after Innes." Sherlock confirmed eventually. Innes had woken up, his small face beginning to screw up before he started crying, wanting to be fed. John sat down beside him upon the sofa, looking down upon the baby who was on Sherlock's lap.

"It is going to be the both of us, isn't it? Both of us are going to look after him, as a couple?" John questioned tentatively.

"That's what I intend, the both of us looking after us, together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far!
> 
> Also, I think I'm coming to the end of this particular story, possibly might have thoughts for a sequel, but I'd still love to know whether you think it's worth continuing!


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

            The crying broke the sleepy silence of the morning, John’s mind slowly flickered into action – it was Innes and he was crying, he needed fed. John shoved the duvet back from covering him, the cool air hitting his skin and lifted Innes out of the cot at the end of his bed; despite the fact that Innes still cried regularly, his cry had changed-but was no longer a mirthless scream, but a wail to alert John that he wanted something. As John settled Innes against his shoulder, he settled down slightly, his cry falling to a whimper.

            "Come on Innes..." John murmured sleepily, "Let's go and heat you a bottle." John couldn't stop himself from yawning as he opened his bedroom door onto the landing; however when he got down to the living room Sherlock had beaten him to it and had a bottle heating up.

            "I heard him crying and thought it's be time for a bottle." Sherlock explained.

            "Thanks Sherlock." John yawned again.

            "Do you want me to take him?" He asked, watching John yawn and observing his tired face closely.

            "Nah, it's alright." John replied.

            "Okay, you grab a seat; I'll bring the bottle over." Sherlock told him.

            As the bottle was warming slowly Sherlock watched John and the baby as John took a seat on the sofa; it had been nearly three months since they had brought Innes home and it seemed like things finally might be settling down. John had accepted the situation, accepted that harry was gone, but also begun to relish that Innes was a part of harry that he was now responsible for. Their relationship too, was still a pleasantly warm feeling; looking after a baby didn't allow for much couple time, so the majority of their time had been spent looking after Innes. Sherlock couldn't complain -he really liked looking after the little boy, and his feelings for John had grown as he watched John connecting and beginning to become the prime nurturer for Innes. He brought the bottle over for John to give to Innes and sat down beside John on the sofa.

            "Have you been up all night?" John asked, yawning and managing to tease the teat into Innes’ mouth.

            "Yeah." Sherlock replied, "I wanted to get this experiment all set up so I can monitor it precisely."

            "I don't know how you can do it..." John mumbled, resting his head against Sherlock’s shoulder. "Stay up all night and not be exhausted... I'm exhausted!

            "Yeah, but you've not really got actual sleep because every time you got into deep sleep, Innes has woken you up... So that makes you even more tired." Sherlock explained.

            "Mmhmm..." John agreed.

            "Maybe you should try it... Staying up all night with me so you can get a feel for what it's actually like." Sherlock suggested, resting his own head against John’s. "As long as you keep yourself active then you don't feel the tiredness." he waited for a reply, but when none came he lifted his head and looked down at John. Still holding the bottle in one hand feeding Innes, John appeared to have fallen asleep leaning against Sherlock; and Sherlock could hear his slow deep breathing. After a few moments, Sherlock tried to move very slowly and take Innes out of John’s loose hands; with some difficulty he managed to extricate Innes from John’s arms without waking him up. John had been doing so well recently; he had really begun to come into his own regarding Innes. The pain and loss he had been living with through the death of his sister had begun to roll away in the past month, he had begun to realise in full certainty that Innes was the last part of Harry and it was his job to look after him. Sherlock was proud of him; it was a bizarre feeling, the strong rush of heartfelt affection towards John. He watched him as his chest rose and fell as he slept rather peacefully next to him. It was like they had reached the calm after the storm- the waves had died down, the wind had abated, and their lives were becoming more calm and back to their ordinary kind of routine. Sherlock had begun doing scientific experimentations again, although being careful to make sure that Innes was asleep and out of the room when he began to do them; it felt like their life was perfectly beginning to balance out.

            John however, when awaking around half an hour later, watched Sherlock with Innes without speaking for a while. Sherlock was so good with him, he turned into an almost completely different person when he was looking after Innes; yet John missed some of the old personality, although he would probably describe Sherlock as arrogant and cold- what he really was was assured in his opinions, and conscious not to mislead people.

            "I had thought..." John began speaking as though he had already been in conversation with Sherlock and paused to think; Sherlock jumped as John spoke and noticed that he was awake.

            "Yes?" Sherlock asked, reeling to catch up.

            "I'd wondered whether we could maybe ask Molly and Greg to come and look after Innes for an evening, so that we can go out and do something... without having to worry about Innes." John continued.

            "Oh!" Sherlock cottoned on to the idea that John was suggesting. "Like a date?"

            "Well, yeah... kinda like a date." John nodded nervously.

            "That sounds like a good idea... but, let's ask my mother to babysit." John stared at Sherlock, rather surprised that he would even suggest his mother, especially because of the somewhat strained relationship between them. "She will be really annoyed if she finds out that we've got someone else to babysit for us... she consider Innes to be her grandson- I know he's not really, but that's how she views it."

            "What do you mean; he's not really her grandson?" John questioned, "Of course he is... you're my partner, so he's as much your son as mine." Sherlock’s mouth opened and closed once, dumbfounded for a second by what John had just said to him.

            "I... my- my son?" Sherlock babbled, his eyes seemed to have changed, and only for a few seconds his face looked younger, more innocent and much more caring. It was the forming of connections in Sherlock’s brain. John was Innes’ guardian, despite not being his biological father, he was still Innes’ provider, his father... and if Sherlock was in a relationship with John, then Sherlock was Innes’ parent too.

            "Yeah, Sherlock! Why don't you call your mother and ask her if she'll babysit for us?"

            "She says she'll be around for about six o'clock." Sherlock called, putting the dust-covered phone down on the receiver. "But no doubt she'll be early, she'll want to come and see us before we go out."

            "What actually are we going to do?" John asked, this thought had never occurred to them - they had discussed going out, but not where or what to do.

            "Oh..." Sherlock paused in the doorway, "Um... dinner?" He suggested.

            "That's great, as long as it's not Angelo's." John agreed, a smile flickered across Sherlock’s face.

            "You can choose where we go." Sherlock said.

            True to Sherlock’s prediction, there was a knock at the door at half past five; John had just picked up Innes to give him one last feed before himself and Sherlock went out. When Sherlock reappeared from the bottom of the stairs, his mother was accompanying him.

            "Hello John!" her voice was cheery and she was beaming. "Oh - look at him!" She was staring lovingly down at Innes, "He's getting big, isn't he?"

            "Yeah, he's fair come on recently." John agreed, rocking Innes to quieten him down.

            "Do you want me to take him; I can feed him if that's what he needs." She offered, holding out her hands.

            "Yeah, here we go..." John stood up, and passed Innes across. "There are a couple of made up bottles in the fridge if he needs another feed; there's nappies and his changing mat over there; and there's his Moses basket if he falls asleep." John informed her of all the things surrounding Innes that she would need to know. As she nodded in understanding, John realised that -unless Sherlock had done so - she didn't know about their relationship.

            "Where abouts are you two going? Got another case?" She asked, sitting herself down on the sofa cradling Innes. John was looking at Sherlock, trying to convey this without actually speaking - getting nowhere, he mouthed:

            "Does your mother know?" Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly and made a tiny shake of his head; luckily his other had been too busy looking down at Innes to notice the interaction between them. "We need to tell her."

            "Mother..." Sherlock began slowly, he took a breath in, he was obviously steeling himself for revealing this. "You know how Mycroft keeps informing you that John and I are 'more than just friends'?"

            "Hmmm... oh yes Sherlock." She nodded her head absently.

            "And I keep refuting it and telling you John is just my flatmate and a friend?"

            "Uh-huh."

            "Well, when I asked you to babysit for us tonight, it's not so that we can go and work on a case or anything..." Sherlock took a breath in. "It's so we can go on a date." It took a moment for this to register in his mother's head, then she looked up.

            "A proper date? A courtship date?" She asked, it was strange to hear it put in these terms.

            "Yes." Sherlock said quietly.

            "Oh boys!" She exclaimed, beaming even wider. "It's about time!" Sherlock suddenly rolled his eyes, at least her reaction was over enthusiastic; Sherlock clearly thought that she had been badgering him for so long to get into a relationship of some sort, and now he had done what she had been waiting for. "Well, with that news - I'd better let you go for your date then!"

            Sherlock took John’s hand when they reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the door to step out into the evening and start their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to know what you think of this chapter/story so far!
> 
> Also, I think I'm coming to the end of this particular story, possibly might have thoughts for a sequel, but I'd still love to know whether you think it's worth continuing!


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

"I've nearly packed everything, just give me two minutes!" John called; Sherlock's mother was waiting down the stairs.

It was three months after Sherlock and John's first date, and they had come to an agreement with Sherlock's mother shortly after. Every second weekend she arrived and took Innes for the weekend, leaving Sherlock and John on their own. This provided a little bit of a respite for Sherlock and John from parenting, and also allowed her to indulge and shower Innes with attention and love.

These brief periods in which Sherlock and John were relieved from looking after Innes became greatly anticipated by the couple; it was a time when they could just be themselves, without having to think or worry about anything else. By this time, Lestrade, Molly and Mycroft all knew that the two of them were now in a relationship.

John passed the sleeping Innes across to Sherlock's mother; she was already laden with a changing bag filled with clothes and nappies for the weekend.

"Alright boys, I'll have Innes back on Sunday evening, you can give me a ring if you want to check on him." She said, John nodded.

Once she had gone, John sat himself down on the sofa rather heavily.

"So... what do you want to do tonight?" Sherlock asked.

"Whatever you want." John answered as Sherlock sat down beside him.

"Mother looked so excited to have him this weekend," Sherlock noted, "It's probably because we told her Innes had sat up on his own, she'll want to see it for herself." John was smiling at the memory... For the past couple of weeks, Innes had been developing extremely well; he had begun to push himself up from the floor using his arms, he was babbling and smiling a lot, and on the previous Tuesday he had sat up for himself for the first time. John had let his head drop onto Sherlock's shoulder, he was enjoying the moment of relaxation, so close to the man who meant so much to him.

Very suddenly, a thought overwhelmed John; his heart began pounding very quickly and his mouth went dry. For the past couple of weeks there had been a thought burgeoning inside him, one that he had relentlessly beaten down- not wishing to be too forwards- but he thought now might be the time to act upon it.

"Sherlock..." He started quietly, he had lifted his head off of Sherlock's shoulder; he took a deep breath and then plunged: "Sherlock, I love you." The pause lasted only for a moment, but it could have been a lifetime before Sherlock jerked up from lounging back in the sofa to look at John directly in the face.

"I love you too." Sherlock replied, his low voice trembling as though in disbelief. "I  _really_  love you..."

Then they were kissing, first very softly- tenderly and loving, one of Sherlock's hands caressing John's face and eventually cupping his chin. The other hand slid round John's back, firmly holding onto him; John's hands, too, had rested on Sherlock's shoulder and in his curly hair. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but neither of them noticed this as their kiss deepened. Shivers were chasing up and down John's spine as Sherlock's tongue brushed along John's teeth; the hand that was on John's back was gently guiding him back so he was almost lying on the sofa, his head resting on the arm. Sherlock drew back slightly, his breathing heavy and he looked down at John; his eyes were full of a strange glitter.

"Are you alright?" He asked. John was so breathless that he couldn't speak, he could feel his heart pounding inside of him; all he wanted was Sherlock – all he needed was this embrace. He tried to stretch up to kiss Sherlock again, but could only brush his lips because of the position he was in.

"Of course!" John panted, Sherlock was smiling now – he was teasing John by being just a little too far out of reach. John wrapped his hands around Sherlock's back, he could feel Sherlock's shoulder blades under his grip – and using all the force he had he pulled him in towards himself.

It had been too long in coming, John finally saying those words – admitting how he truly felt about Sherlock; how he cared for him, wanted him,  _needed_ him. But now the time had arrived, here they were – locked with John pulling Sherlock on top of him; and he didn't ever want to let him go.

"That's cheating." Sherlock purred, his lips centimetres away from John's. "Your army training gives you extra strength."

"Well it serves you right for teasing me," John reprimanded, trying to sound serious. Sherlock relented his playful pulling away and pressed against him, meeting his lips once more. This time, however, it was deep, lustful and passionate; John pulled Sherlock close to him, he could feel Sherlock's breath, hot on his face.

The kiss was oblivion – it was as though ecstasy was filling both of their veins, pumping through them and spurring them onwards. John couldn't tell how long the kiss had been going on before he felt something; Sherlock was straddling him over his thighs and as they kissed, John could feel something pushing down on his midriff. It was a second before John realised exactly what part of Sherlock's anatomy it was that was pressing into him; and when it did, he pulled away gently from Sherlock.

"Sherlock, have you-" Sherlock had turned bright red and he pulled himself upright so he was sitting near the region of John's thighs.

"Oh sorry," He looked rather embarrassed, attempting to reposition himself. "I knew I shouldn't have worn such tight trousers!" He muttered in annoyance with himself, John couldn't help but stare at the bulge in Sherlock's trousers which was quite clearly an erection.

"No, I'm glad you wore them – looks even better from where I'm sitting!" John replied unabashed; Sherlock's face went such a deep crimson that John had been sure wasn't possible of his usually pale hues. Sherlock seemed temporarily bereft of speech, all the while he was looking at John.

"Are you sure it doesn't make you feel uncomfort- aahh…" Sherlock had begun to ask, but John had jumped in before he could finish – reaching his hand up and padding it against the bulge in his trousers. Sherlock let a deep breath out quickly. "Do that again…" He whispered gently and John continued to stroke Sherlock's erection through the material of Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock didn't appear able to decide whether he wanted to breath in or breath out, so instead he made a kind of short, stuttering gasp. With his free hand, John reached up to grab Sherlock's shirt to try and pull him into kiss him again. Once Sherlock was close enough to kiss, however, he changed tactics – sliding his hand down the waistband of Sherlock's trousers so he could make closer contact.

"Wait, wait-" Sherlock halted him, "Let's not do this here…" He took hold of John's free hand and moved to pull him upright. "Come on, we can go to my bedroom." John followed him obligingly.

Sherlock's hand was vibrating, John wasn't sure whether it was through nervousness or excitement, but he could feel Sherlock's fingers trembling within his own as he followed him up the stairs. "John, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable…" Sherlock warned, pushing open the door of the bedroom to reveal his pristine bedroom. "So if I do, tell me, won't you?" But John was already closing the door behind him – almost disregarding Sherlock's comment. He knew that this was not wrong; he knew that both of them were comfortable. He was pulling Sherlock towards him – despite the height difference – they were easily matched, John was kissing Sherlock. He hadn't wanted to break apart downstairs, but it had seemed more natural and probably a more comfortable set up to be in one of their bedrooms. Sherlock's arms were wrapped around John, his hips pressing into him. The presence of Sherlock's erection was still notable; and as John's heart pounded in his chest, he slipped his hand down the waistband of Sherlock's trousers – fumbling for a second to get his hand down the elastic of Sherlock's boxers – until finally he was able to touch Sherlock's erect penis. Sherlock gasped as John's cold fingers made contact; John could feel Sherlock's pulse throbbing as he moved his hand rather awkwardly through the fabric of his clothes. Sherlock wrapped himself around John, he was kissing John's neck; making the hairs on John's neck stand on end. John began fumbling with his other hand at Sherlock's trouser button; he wanted to make access easier so he could be more active in his movement. Sherlock, however, was pulling John towards the bed – also helping him with his trouser button. John toppled over onto the bed and stared up into Sherlock's face; Sherlock was breathless, his eyes sparkling but filled with an innocent love.

"I love you." Sherlock whispered softly, still standing at the edge of the bed.

"I love you too." John replied. Sherlock bent slightly and ran his hand along the inside of John's thigh; again sending shivers chasing up and down John's spine. "Take your trousers off." John startled himself with the firmness of his voice, but Sherlock obeyed unhesitatingly undoing the last bit of a zip and removing his trousers, leaving them on a pile on the floor. His legs were pale and lean to fit the rest of his form, but to John they looked absolutely beautiful. To John Sherlock was the most stunning person, everything about him was lithe and graceful, he just exuded agility. John, also, was undoing the button of his own jeans aware that Sherlock's touch had ignited a spark within himself and he could feel himself beginning to strain in the fabric of his jeans. Sherlock helped, pulling one of the legs of John's jeans off, assisting in removing them and in so doing revealing a pair of bright red boxer shorts. The blush on Sherlock's face had retracted back into his pale colour as he paused for a second and then moved down over John's body, holding himself from falling on top of John by placing hands either side of John's shoulders. They kissed, so deeply that twice their teeth made contact, but that didn't put either of them off. As they kissed, Sherlock pressed his hips down into John, making ever so slight grinding motions. The material of both of their boxers caused even more friction – John's heart seemed to be doing backflips, jumping and restarting. Sherlock's hands were sliding underneath John's t-shirt, caressing his skin tenderly. John's hand was reaching down in between their hips – his abdomen felt tight from the on-going movement. He wasn't sure whether Sherlock was teasing him in an effort to make him more aroused – whether intentional or not, it was working. John wrapped his hand around the shaft of Sherlock's penis and began to slide it surely and steadily up and down. Sherlock's back arched as he moaned in utter pleasure, his elbows beginning to tremble, struggling to hold him up from falling onto John. With his other hand, John guided Sherlock over so he was lying on his back, with John over him; he removed Sherlock's boxers and unbuttoned his shirt to strip him completely naked. Sherlock seemed unable to not rock his hips in the rhythm that John was moving, his thrusts becoming deeper and deeper; his breathing was ragged and he had his eyes closed, one hand curled into the bed sheets and his other holding onto John's neck. John was also moving his hips in a kind of similar manner, although he was pressing into Sherlock's leg.

"Is that alright?" John asked, wanting to make sure Sherlock wasn't uncomfortable.

"Oh god, yes!" Sherlock moaned, breathing out slightly erratically.

"Give me a moment." John paused, stripping his t-shirt off from over his head and pulling his boxers down. Despite his own erection being slightly uncomfortable as it was not being attended to, he wanted to finish Sherlock first and make him happy. He wanted to prove his love – and actually it was making him feel good, just as good as he hoped Sherlock felt. He bent down, half kneeling over the edge of the bed and took as much of Sherlock's cock into his mouth and wrapped one of his hands around the base, so he could make complete movements. With his other hand he wrapped his fingers around his own penis so he could release some of his own tension and passion.

"Nnngg – uuuh…" Sherlock moaned, "Oh god John!" Sherlock had buried his hand within John's hair as John began to move up and down. The deeper that John got, the more of a reaction came from Sherlock; his ragged breathing, heaving chest, the way his back was arching and fingers were curling into the sheets and his eyes were closed; his face in an ecstatic expression: "Oh – uh, uuh – John! John! I'm – I'm…" Sherlock's voice rose to a high pitch, holding onto the hair on the top of John's hair. "John – I'm gonna, I can't hold on any longer!" Sherlock was trying to warn John that he was going to cum, but John didn't care – he was going to keep going, his tongue running gently over the head of Sherlock's penis. This seemed to be the last thing that Sherlock could help with – he let out an ecstasied moan and finally came. "Uh – oh god, oh god – John!" Sherlock panted; he had collapsed limply back onto his bed for a few seconds. John had a moment where he had to consciously focus on swallowing before he could continue to finish himself off.

"Come here!" Sherlock had managed to regain some of his composure and he pulled John up onto the bed. "Let me…" He said, kneeling down at the edge of the bed, taking the place where John had been previously. There was a moment where their eyes locked, and then Sherlock took John full in the mouth. It was a peculiarly wonderful sensation; the warmth and wetness of Sherlock's mouth made John sigh – this was  _heavenly._ As Sherlock began to move up and down, a warm tingling sensation spread throughout his body and he could not prevent himself from gasping aloud. He had to consciously stop himself from thrusting which was his natural instinct; a warm and gentle pressure was building in his abdomen – he wasn't going to last as long as Sherlock, but he had been jerking himself off as well as sucking Sherlock. Sherlock, who had been bobbing up and down with surprising rapidity, had just changed tack. His hands were caressing up John's torso, stroking his chest and slowly gliding his hands down to his thighs and then back up again – along with this, he had slowed down the movement of his head, sucking slowly and deliberately and brushing his tongue the length of John's cock. John could hardly cope with this deliberate slowing down; his entire body – especially his limbs – were trembling so violently in anticipation that the bed was shaking.

"Sher-lock!" John croaked, his voice was trembling as much as the rest of his body, but John had no time to give Sherlock extra warning – the pressure had reached a peak, he felt like his heart might be about to explode: and he ejaculated…

Bright white lights burst in front of John's eyes; his heart was fluttering inside his chest and an overwhelming feeling of love and fulfilment.

"Oh fuck – I love you." John panted, reaching out his hand to pull Sherlock up onto the bed beside him, he wanted skin on skin contact no, he wanted Sherlock near to him.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, very slowly and quietly, entangling himself around John's naked form.

"My god yes, Sherlock!" John replied, burying his face into Sherlock's neck. All the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck and a tingling shiver made everything stand on end, John's hot breath was warm and incredibly sensuous on Sherlock's skin. "I love you, I love you so much!" He nuzzled closer into Sherlock's soft skin, stroking the area over Sherlock's rubs; his skin was soft, yet there was something very masculine in the feel of his skin.

"I love you too John." Sherlock answered, his voice very low and very tender. "More than you can imagine, and more than I can ever prove to you…" He lifted his head from laying on the pillow so that he could kiss John gently. There was a silence as John settled, resting his head upon Sherlock's chest – hearing his heart beating and feeling it rising and falling; for a moment John wondered whether Sherlock had fallen asleep. "Oh I am glad my mother is looking after Innes tonight…" Sherlock muttered finally.

"How?" John asked, his voice very relaxed, almost drowsy.

"Can you imagine trying to do that whilst looking after Innes?" Sherlock chuckled slightly, raising his head to look down at John with a lopsided grin on his face. "We'd not have even gotten up the stairs."

"Yeah…" John agreed. "Maybe when he's a bit older it won't be such of an issue."

"We've got a little bit of waiting to do before he's old enough for us to move him into his own room." Sherlock said honestly.

"True… so in the meantime, we better make use of the times when your mother looks after him!" John pushed himself up so he was leaning on one arm, far enough up to kiss Sherlock much more easily.

"We shall have to." Sherlock nodded, a smile flitting across his lips and his eyes glittering all over again.

"Now?" John suggested, involuntarily licking his lips.

"Please…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This is the ending of this story and I'd love to hear what you thought about it! And, it does continue - the sequel is entitled "The Anatomy of Kind", feel free to check it out if you wish! I hope you've enjoyed reading! :)


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